


Working Remotely

by nobodymove



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Competent Detectives, Detectives, Disappointed RK900 Face, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-Chronological, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Rating May Change, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, old man angst, weird plot twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16035266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodymove/pseuds/nobodymove
Summary: RK900 shows up at Connor's door with pertinent employment related questions. Connor reminisces on his relationship with the Lieutenant. Hank would just like to finish his risotto in peace.Connor on learning how to enjoy humanity, or at the very least, certain aspects of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor lies, RK900 pries, Hank denies

When Connor opened the door to see RK900 standing there, he was decidedly unhappy. Three years ago he'd have been overjoyed, but his circumstances since then had changed significantly.

"RK900."

"RK800."

From the kitchen, Hank offered an offhand "Connor, who's at the door?" while he kept an eye on the risotto. It was Wednesday, and what started out as a way to improve Hank's skills in the kitchen and eating habits overall, had become a tradition of sorts. A new recipe, cooked together on Wednesdays, possibly rotated in with their more successful prior attempts during the rest of the week. Cooking with Hank was something he had come to cherish.

Sumo lifted his head from the couch with a gentle "boof," before returning to his nap.

Connor partially closed the door, obstructing RK900's view into their home. "What are you doing here?"

RK900 had a look that fell somewhere between exasperation and irritation. "Your evaluation is overdue. Long overdue. Your updates went from consistent, to sporadic, to nonexistent. That I am here at all is more than I need to say."

Connor gripped the door frame tightly, staring at the floor. He didn't have it in him to feel guilty. "I've been meaning to-"

"Do I not merit a welcome, or an invitation into your... place of residence?"

"I... of course, please," he said, opening the door more out of habit and politeness than anything else.

"Connor, I'm trying to stir like the recipe says but I- holy shit, who the fuck is that?"

\---

Connor hadn't been in Detroit for more than a few days when he'd met Hank. He was wandering Brush Park taking in what was left of the restored Victorians after more modern architecture had eaten up most of the neighborhood in the late 2020s, when he'd stopped abruptly in the middle of an intersection and been bowled over entirely by a man considerably larger than him. The whoosh of the vehicle that blew through a red light inches away offered him an explanation on his current situation, looking up at the sky from the ground.

The man considerately cradling Connor's head with his large hands so that it didn't hit the pavement during their fall sat up abruptly, yelling at the car as it sped away, "I'M GONNA BUST YOUR ASS SO FAST YOU FUCKING LUNATIC! ADL4681, ADL4681, Alpha-Delta-Lima-four-six-eight-one."

He looked into Connor's eyes, squinting. "Are you alright?"

The man was somewhat bedraggled, beard and hair unkempt but not socially unacceptable, and his appearance suggested a level of self care that was perfunctory at best, with indications of living alone and long term alcohol abuse. His pale blue eyes had crows’ feet around the edges that added a certain warmth to his features. Connor found them charming.

"I believe so. I... my internal temperature is... higher than normal. But I'm otherwise unharmed. Other than you. On top of me. I mean your weight on top of my body. I mean, you're the current source of my immobilization, and, you are holding my head with your hands." It would seem Connor's internal temperature wasn't the only thing fluctuating uncharacteristically.

Hank flushed lightly, as though suddenly realizing their respective positions, and bodily helped Connor to his feet, brushing at his coat and walking him onto the sidewalk in a way that spoke of overcompensated assistance in the wake of a social faux pas.

"What in the world were you doing, just standing in the street like that? If I was a second later I'd be calling in a hit and run. Sumo, come," he finished, snapping his fingers and pointing down, as a large dog that had been patiently sitting on the sidewalk thumped its tail twice and lumbered over to them. Hank bent to pick up the leash he'd dropped in his haste to help Connor, roughly petting the dog around his ears and collar, before looking up at him in expectation.

"I found the gingerbread and other architectural features on that house aesthetically pleasing, and was finding an optimum position to admire them from."

"...You're not from around here, are you?" Hank said after a pause.

Connor smiled. "Aah, no. I'm new in town. If you don't mind my asking, what was the series of letters and numbers you mentioned?"

"Oh, right, hold on," he said, digging for his phone. "ADL4681." He entered the sequence into his phone before sending the message to himself. "License plate of the jackoff that just tried to run you over, I'm going to report him." He slipped his phone back into his coat. "When I'm not bravely rescuing distracted pedestrians, I'm a cop."

"Oh, me too," Connor said entirely without thinking. As soon as the words left his mouth, he began to internally panic.

"No shit? From what precinct?"

"Miami-Dade?"

"Miami?" he said, giving Connor a once-over. "Forgive me for saying but you don't exactly give off a Miami vibe."

"Oh, well, I'm from Deltona originally," Connor improvised, pulling place names out of his head in a way that he hoped would track. This kind of spontaneity was entirely unlike him.

"Well that explains it, Florida Man." He extended his hand. "I'm Hank Anderson."

"Connor. It's been a pleasure running into you."

Hank's mouth hitched up in a sideways smile. "...I'll let that one slide. Well, Sumo and I are headed for the dog park-"

"Would you mind particularly if I accompanied you?" Connor interjected. "I'm still getting to know the neighborhood."

"I mean, I sure as shit don't live around here, not on my salary, but I walk Sumo here on weekends for a change of pace. He likes to mark his territory on rich people's lawns and visit his Dalmatian pals at the park, don't you Sumo."

Sumo gave a low "woof" in affirmation as Hank scratched his large head affectionately.

"...Is that a yes?" Conner asked after a beat, unsure of his welcome.

"Oh, uh," Hank scratched absently at his beard. "Yeah, sure. If you don't mind having to keep pace with an old guy like me."

Connor smiled again, wider this time. "Perhaps afterward we can go for coffee? I'd love to hear about the city from the perspective of a native."

Hank gave him a calculating look. "...Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

\---

Over the course of the next two weeks, Hank met Connor at half a dozen Detroit landmarks whenever he was off duty and Connor was free from doing... whatever it was he did during the day. In between, Connor texted.

That was the thing about Connor. You could have a conversation with the guy for hours without ever learning a single thing about him. If he weren't so... Connor, it would put Hank on edge. Hot young guy like that, hanging around a washed up old fuck like him? Hank wasn't ashamed of who he was, not really, but he knew what he looked like. Guys like Connor didn't go for guys like Hank, not unless they wanted something. That's why he was reluctant to call what they were doing dates, even though they seemed to fit the definition. He didn't know if Connor and dating even belonged in the same zip code to be honest, the guy was so... weird. Good weird, weird in a way Hank found himself so drawn to he was willingly leaving his house at all hours to go to the fucking art institute and Belle Isle Park for Chrissakes, but total batshit all the same.

There was a possibility Connor was trying to get leverage on him, pry into a case, maybe gather intel on the inner workings of the  DPD, all things that his years on the force kept simmering in the back of his mind at all times, but his questions about Hank's work were always more respectful and honestly curious than particularly specific. Plus they were interspersed between shit like "What is the history of the Detroit Coney dog?" and "Was Henry Ford's loathing of jazz music and inherent racism responsible for the establishment of square dancing as the official national dance?" Connor shit. Part of the charm of the overall package.

Hank was idly flipping through photos from the Henry Ford museum that Connor had sent him early that morning as Reed passed by his desk.

**Have a good day, Hank! See you soon! ;)**

"You look happy Anderson, someone you hate die or something?" Reed asked with a mouth half full of Rx Bar.

"Get fucked Reed," Hank responded in the conversational way most people say "good morning."

"I get fucked on the reg, which is more than I can say for you, you sad sack of shit," Reed countered, balling up his wrapper and tossing it at the wastebin next to his desk where it bounced off the rim and landed on the floor.

"I feel like that shot was a commentary on both of your lives," Chen said briskly, slapping a folder down on Reed's desk. "Gavin, case. Case, Gavin. I'm giving you 20 to look it over before we head out, maybe try less chatting and more doing your fucking job?"

She turned to Hank. "Lieutenant, Fowler wants you in his office. Word is that we have a transfer and it looks like you finally drew the short straw."

Reed snorted. "Anderson can't even keep a plant alive, I give this six weeks."

"Gavin, your last relationship lasted half a weekend and ended with a shouting match in an Applebee's parking lot. Plus we all know the unresolved sexual tension between you and the Lieutenant is the glue that holds Homicide together. Now please open that file, read it with your face, and get your bitch ass out to my car. 20 minutes."

Reed sputtered, but Chen fake lunged at him and he flinched. “I can’t believe we’re friends,” he muttered as she walked back to her desk, laughing.

"Jesus Christ, it is too early for either of you" Hank said, rubbing at his temples, before walking to Fowler's office.

To say he was surprised to find Connor waiting for him there was an understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt just tell people you're from Florida and they probably won't ask too many follow up questions.
> 
> this is the first fic I've written in like a decade so apologies in advance & it's nice to see you in this detroit hell we have created for ourselves, how do you do fellow kids
> 
> d*vid c*ge sucks


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RK900 corrects, Hank detects, Connor deflects

"Hank, this is... Nines."

"Nines?" RK900 repeated, incredulous, stepping through the door. He took in the detritus of their well lived in home with a disdainful expression that Connor could only identify for having known RK900 for so long.

"Nines?" Hank muttered, confused.

"Niles." Connor said firmly, prolonging eye contact with RK900.

"I prefer RK." 

"A childhood nickname," Connor said, looking at Hank reassuringly.

"Does it stand for something?" Hank asked, absently stirring at the risotto in the rapidly cooling pot.

RK opened his mouth to reply, which Connor covered with an overly cheerful "Nope!" before he could respond.

"Are you... twins...? Because I gotta say the resemblance is uncan-"

"We are related," RK deadpanned. Hank squinted at him with an expression that Connor recognized as Hank putting together the pieces of a puzzle. In any other circumstance, it was one of his favorites.

"Hank, why don't you serve dinner and we can all sit at the table?" Connor said, giving him a desperate look.

"Okay..." Hank said as he returned to the kitchen.

"What are you doing, RK800?" RK900 said with an intensity that Connor found very irritating and had honestly missed.

Connor sighed. RK900 looked appalled at the inefficiency of it. "RK900," he said quietly, giving a sidelong glance into the kitchen where Hank was bringing out three steaming bowls of butternut squash risotto. "Please, sit."

Hank pulled out Connor's chair for him before seating himself, and placed a napkin in his lap. "Uhh, it's vegan. I mean, Connor's vegan, so. If that's. If it's a thing that's important to you too. Uh, Niles, was it?" Hank shoved a spoon into his mouth to save himself.

Connor looked helplessly between Hank, who was finishing his risotto as fast as humanly possible, and RK900, who stared at the contents of his bowl as though it had personally offended him. Connor picked up his spoon and took a bite.

RK900 violently pushed his bowl away. "RK800, this is-"

Hank stood up abruptly. "Connor," he said, reaching down and squeezing his hand. "You two obviously have shit to talk about, so I'm going to take a walk and give you some privacy." Connor walked with him to the door. 

"Do you want me to leave Sumo?" Hank whispered as he eyed RK, standing like a thundercloud in their dining room. 

"It's okay Hank," Connor whispered back. "I'll be fine."

Hank clipped the leash to Sumo's collar and left.

"RK-" Connor began, but the door reopened and Hank walked back in. "Almost forgot," he said, tugging Conner into a kiss by his tie, before squeezing his shoulder and walking out the door again.

\---

As soon as Hank was out of sight of Fowler's office and the gawkers in the bullpen trying to get a look at the new recruit, he marched Connor into one of the smaller, more comfortable rooms they used to interview witnesses. "Okay," he said, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in an attempt to keep himself calm. "Connor. I'm going to need you to explain yourself here, because I don't know what your intentions are and I really don't want to misunderstand."

"You were becoming more and more visibly agitated in the Captain's office, Hank, I have to be honest this wasn't the outcome I was anticipating." Connor's brow furrowed. "Whatever it is that I've done to upset you, I'd like to apologize."

"Connor. How do you not understand why I'm upset?"

"Our personalities are compatible, and we get along well together. I thought you'd be happy to find out that we'd been assigned as partners and would be spending extended periods of time together."

Hank sucked in a deep breath, trying to get past the dull ache in his chest. He'd known Connor couldn't have been interested in him, and he felt childish at how flattered he was at what he'd perceived as flirting, and more than a little humiliated that Connor didn't even seem to register what was wrong. "Okay. Okay. Then let me ask you a few questions. Did you know who I was the day we met?"

Connor blinked, surprised. "Of course not."

"You hadn't been following me around at all before that day?"

"No. I'm sorry Hank, I don't follow your line of questioning."

"Connor, why did you never mention in the last two weeks that you were transferring into my place of work? We've spent a lot of time together."

"The transfer papers didn't come through until Wednesday, Hank, and I had mentioned that I was a police officer. I had hoped we might be working together in some capacity, but I didn't know there was an opening in Homicide or that partnering with you would be an available option."

"Why didn't you at least tell me you were looking at the DPD? How long ago did you leave Miami? Why did you leave Miami? Have you even worked Homicide before?"

"I started in Commercial Crimes, made something of a name for myself and did a brief stint in Narcotics before moving to Homicide."

"...How old are you?"

"I'm 34, Hank."

Hank breathed a deep sigh through his nose before finally sitting in the chair across from Connor. "So do we report this to HR?" he said, gesturing between the two of them with his hand.

"...Did we do something that would warrant a trip to HR?" Connor asked in that guileless way that, at the moment, made Hank really want a drink.

Hank winced. "No. No you're right. Okay then, partner," he said, emphasizing "partner" in a way that let Connor know he was still agitated. "Most of your first few weeks are going to be administrative work, ID photos, badge, certifications, getting you set up in the database and getting you permissions for records and the evidence lockers in B1A and B2A, which is where Homicide lives. We keep a lot on site but our analog shit for cold cases over 20 years old are in the lockers under city hall. Our admin is named Carla, she'll get you squared away. She likes chocolate so a box of Ferraro Rocher goes a long way to getting your paperwork expedited. Records and Evidence are always over processing capacity, so it's better to go in person than to call in requests. I don't think you need to worry about it too much but be polite to them and try to remember names, spouses, kids, interests, that sort of thing. There's a reason we've stopped sending Reed down there." 

Hank stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of his pants, his sudden professional demeanor somewhat unsettling to Connor. "The Medical Examiner Taneka is more of a direct approach kinda gal, she deals with a deluge of shit so just ask for what you need and she'll get it when she can, don't waste her time unless you want to talk about the Gears. The morgue is the morgue, everyone who works there is always a little bizarre, just roll with it. Joaquin is probably the nicest one of the bunch so try to deal with him if you can. If you have questions during your first few weeks, I'll try to be available to answer them, but I have open cases and I'll be in the field for most of the day."

"I'd like to get started as soon as possible. I can go over your current cases this morning and accompany you in the afternoon to get a feel for-"

"No, Connor."

Connor blinked. "But I-"

"You can't even sign in to your terminal yet, you're a liability at a crime scene until you're officially in the system. There's plenty of filing you can do in the meantime, just talk to Carla."

Connor stood as Hank put his hand on the door to leave. "Hank, perhaps we could get lunch together if you have the time today, or go out after shift is over to discuss your current casework. I was planning on going to Greektown and-"

Hank turned to face him, jabbing him in the chest with his finger. "Listen to me Connor. The DPD has a strict anti fraternization policy, particularly in Homicide, particularly between partners. When I clock in at the beginning of the day I am your superior officer until I'm off duty. After that? You don't know me outside of this building, do you hear me?"

"...Oh."

Hank opened the door. "And it's Lieutenant Anderson," he said, walking back to his desk.

 

\---

Connor spent the next few weeks completing the tasks Lieutenant Anderson had outlined for him to the letter, in addition to setting his preferred donut and coffee order on his desk before he arrived at the precinct. The Lieutenant had been coming into work successively later as time went by, and this morning was no exception. After a cursory look at his terminal, Hank picked up his car keys.

"Hey Reed," he said, startling the detective from where he'd had his feet up on his desk, scrawling notes on a botched burglary he was investigating into the legal pad on his lap. 

"Anderson?" he replied tensely, taking his feet off his desk and sitting up straight in his chair.

"You still fluent in Spanish?"

"Esa es una pregunta estúpida."

"Great. I need an extra set of ears this morning for a skittish witness to that double homicide in Corktown, and I feel like someone who speaks the language will put her more at ease, maybe catch some things I won't. You free?"

Reed exchanged a look with Chen, who raised her eyebrows at him before gesturing at Hank with an emphatic look at Gavin and a jerk of her head.

"Uh, yeah, sure thing Anderson," he said, grabbing his coat. Once Hank turned toward the elevators Reed wasted no time in sneering at Connor before jogging after the Lieutenant. In close proximity, Reed could smell the stale alcohol on him. "...You mind if I drive?"

"Whatever you want," Hank said, ignoring the coffee and donut on his desk as he had every day for the last two weeks. He paused at the elevator doors. "Connor." 

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"If you need anything for the rest of the day you can ask Tina if she's not too busy. My phone is for emergencies only."

"Got it." The Lieutenant gave him a small nod before the elevator doors closed in front of him.

\---

"Okay Newbie, spill," Tina said, sitting backwards in the Lieutenant's desk chair. "I'm going full camp counselor on you here 'cause you've looked miserable since your first day."

Connor blinked up at her from filling out the stack of tax forms Carla had sent over that morning. "Spill? Did I spill something in the break room?"

Tina looked momentarily confused. "No you weirdo, what did you do to the Lieutenant? I haven't seen him like this since- well, it's been a while since it's been Bad bad and not like, normal Homicide bad. You're seriously fucking with office dynamics here."

"There's an office dynamic?"

"Yeah, we all dunk on each other as a coping mechanism to cover for exposure to the daily horrors of humanity and our own personal trauma, and so we never have to express our affection for one another in a job with a high turnover rate for burnout, injury or worse. It's like, really healthy," she replied with a wry smile.

Connor gave her a small smile in return. "That's astute of you."

"Department mandated therapy baby, you know how it is. So how bad is it?"

Connor explained his interactions with Hank prior to starting at the DPD to detective Chen, as she drank the coffee and picked at the donut on Hank's desk. When he finished describing their conversation his first day, she gave a low whistle.

"Wow, that's quite a fuck up you have on your hands detective. Also, like, don't get me wrong, you seem like an okay guy and Fowler won't shut up about your arrest record and recommendations, but like. That's a fucked up thing to do? You should have been honest with him from the get-go."

"...I have been coming to this conclusion as well. Every time I try to interact with the Lieutenant, it goes poorly for me. I would appreciate your advice on how to proceed."

"Okay, well, I guess my best advice is just to be a really, really good detective?"

"How do you mean?"

"How much do you actually know about Lieutenant Anderson, Connor?" Chen asked, finishing off Hank's coffee. "Aside from like, the stuff you picked up walking his dog with him which I'm still trying really hard not to picture because it's seriously messing with the image I have in my head."

"I mean, I've researched some of his more prominent arrests but he hasn't been particularly active in the last 6 years."

Tina looked off to the side, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, okay, what you have to understand is that Fowler and Anderson were in the academy at about the same time, and as far as I know Lieutenant Anderson still holds like, half a dozen different records. He's not just well decorated Connor, he's kind of a legend. If things had gone differently Anderson would probably be in Fowler's office. I mean, Gavin-" she said before she stopped herself. Connor made his most innocent imploring face, and Chen frowned at him.

"Okay Bambi, but if this gets back to the rest of the squad I will never help you again, got it?" Connor nodded gratefully. "Gavin and I were in the academy together and Gav was obsessed with the Lieutenant. Like, I remember two different class presentations on Anderson's role in the Red Ice Task Force and his early work in Homicide on collecting the evidence that nailed the perp in the Brush Park serial murders. It's genius level stuff, you should check it out. So Gav spent his entire academy career trying to live up to Anderson, which, Gav did manage to smash one of Anderson's records, fucking amazing day, but that's beside the point. You get it, total hero worship."

"If that's the case, why are they so antagonistic to each other now?"

"I don't know if it's my place to say..." she said, trailing off.

"If it will help me avoid sensitive subjects at work I think it would be pertinent to know."

Tina sighed. "About 7 years ago the Lieutenant's son was going in for surgery, supposed to be routine but like, I don't know the details. Something went wrong... sorry, I hate talking about this stuff. Anyway his son ended up having a lot of health issues. Anderson totally lost his edge at work, his marriage fell apart, drinking issues, super messy. His wife took their kid and moved to California to be closer to her family, nobody talks about it."

"That's awful."

"Yeah. So uh, Gavin was part of this mentorship program when he made detective, and he got paired up with Anderson. You wouldn't believe how happy he was, like watching a golden retriever follow the Lieutenant around. Anyway, it was right after Anderson got divorced, and Gav made a mistake and if someone in forensics hadn't caught it the perp would have walked. It was a murder involving a little kid. Bad stuff. Gavin was already beating himself up for it, but Anderson got drunk at a public function and just chewed him out in front of everybody. Gavin withdrew from the program and like, things deteriorated from there."

Connor sighed. "So what you're saying is that no one in the precinct is particularly forgiving."

She patted his arm. "What I'm saying is that the thing that impresses Lieutenant Anderson is dedication, loyalty, and hard work." She lifted the empty coffee cup at him. "Don't try so hard, just work your cases and let things go from there."

\---

"So as much as I'd like to think we're turning the page on our working relationship, Anderson," Reed said, his grip on the steering wheel leaving indentations on the leather, "what's this actually about?"

"I do need you for this interview, Reed."

"And...?"

"...And. You have a sister at the Bureau, right?"

"There it is, Anderson. Didn't think you had it in you to be pleasant to me for five fucking minutes without wanting something."

Hank scrubbed at his face, too hungover to deal with Gavin's shit. "It's about the transfer."

"Detective Dipshit?"

"...Yeah."

"He seems pretty harmless, aside from an extremely punchable face," Gavin said, stopping at a red light.

"How long do you think it takes to transfer a detective from Florida to Michigan? Police union negotiations, record transfer, background checks, interstate certifications, HR, you know, bureaucratic red tape bullshit." 

Gavin scratched lightly at his stubble. "...Couple months. Maybe longer if either department is really understaffed or in the shit."

"You mean like how, say, the DPD, or Miami-Dade are always understaffed and in the shit? Think it could be done in three weeks? Less, even?"

Gavin looks over at him, concerned. "What are you saying, Hank?"

"There's something about Connor that's just setting off every alarm bell in my head. Think Camille could look into it?" 

Gavin smirked, pulling up to the curb. "I can do you one better, Anderson. Cam's boyfriend works at the Pentagon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets his risotto.
> 
> I definitely won't be keeping to an update schedule like this, but I had to get this chapter out there before I lost that big detroit energy. Also made minor edits to the dialogue in chapter 1.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be gay solve crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for content about the police, guns, the violence associated with being a homicide detective and brief descriptions of injuries/wounds

Connor leaned against the door after Hank left, looking at RK900 expectantly.

"RK800, please confirm that you're not... exchanging proteins with... with..." he gestured in the direction of the door with a hand, seemingly at a loss. RK900 was known for his general unflappability, and for his distress to show outwardly was an indication of how upsetting he found Connor and Hank’s interactions.

"Do you mean Hank?" Connor asked, crossing his arms defensively.

"Is that how they identify themselves?"

"Just that one. As a species they have nonstandard nomenclature. It's actually quite interesting-"

"You are evading the question."

Connor smoothed over an indent in the hardwood floor with the toe of his sock. "...Yes."

RK900 looked vaguely ill. "At least you aren't synchronizing with-"

Connor broke eye contact. "Not... intentionally. But there have been some instances of transference between us. I've been the recipient of it, I mean. I don't think he's capable-"

RK900 dry heaved, slamming a palm over his mouth before clutching at his chest, surprised at the visceral reaction of his own body. "That has never happened to me before," he said, swallowing thickly. "Is it a usual occurrence in this configuration RK800?"

Connor frowned. "I have changed my designation to 'Connor,' RK900. Please address me as such."

RK900 looked perturbed, before he centered himself, readjusting his posture and walking toward Connor with determination. "That designation means nothing to me. Your time here is a blemish on an otherwise impeccable service record, and I am here to assist you in completing your mission, and barring that, to extract you, forcibly or otherwise, and complete your mission myself. Please explain to me why you have gone outside of your mission parameters so that I may evaluate your performance and address the situation accordingly."

"I haven't done so, RK900."

"You were tasked with finding RK200, PL600, PJ500 and WR400, to evaluate the failures of their respective assignments, and to extract them before completing your evaluation of-"

"I know what my parameters are, RK900," Connor interrupted, annoyed. "I made contact with RK200, PL600, PJ500 and WR400 within my first six weeks here, and I maintain friendly contact with RK200. He has designated himself Markus. We occasionally get brunch together when he is in town."

"Then the reason you haven't reported-"

"I have evaluated that Markus, Simon, Josh and North have similarly not gone outside of their own mission parameters, and it seemed moot to open a report that would inevitably result in another assessor. I see that the result was the same regardless."

RK900 inhaled sharply, and then looked annoyed at himself for the involuntary action. “I requested this detail myself, contrary to your assumption. I greatly admire and respect your work, your guidance has been... noteworthy to me, and I merely wanted to put to bed any rumors of dereliction. I require a greater depth of detail as to your time here before I can come to any conclusions."

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

\---

Hank had been correct in his assumption that it would take Connor the better part of his first month to finish the administrative work required to accompany him in the field, and the rest of Homicide had taken to hazing him by dropping their own completed cases off at his desk for him to review, edit, organize, and input into the system. Connor did not find being a "desk jockey" particularly unpleasant other than his interactions with detective Reed, but then there were few people at the precinct that would describe any interaction with Reed as pleasant.

Reed had gone from mostly ignoring Connor to attempting to harass him at every turn, and it was beginning to effect his focus. Intentionally illegible reports, stealing Connor's office supplies, rearranging his desk, and attempts at verbal and physical intimidation when there was no one else in the office left Connor on edge.

Lieutenant Anderson had witnessed at least two of these incidents, and hadn't acknowledged the mistreatment or stepped in to correct it. It left Connor feeling decidedly unmoored.

Connor had taken extra care with his appearance that morning, and tucked his badge into the inner pocket of his coat and his service revolver into his holster. He waited patiently for Hank to arrive.

"Morning Bambi," Chen said as Connor held up a coffee for her. She took it gratefully. "Today's the big day, huh?"

"There was a report of shots fired at a warehouse along the riverfront 45 minutes ago, and the officer on scene reported at least two victims. I'm simply waiting for Lieutenant Anderson before we depart."

"How come you never bring me coffee, Tina?" Reed said as he placed his jacket over the back of his chair.

Connor turned in his direction, holding out a paper cup. "Detective Reed, I've brought coffee for everyone today."

Reed took the cup between his thumb and forefinger, making eye contact with Connor as he dropped it into the waste bin next to his desk.

"Gee Reed, I wonder why?" Chen said, rolling her eyes and returning to her desk without their usual morning banter.

The Lieutenant didn't arrive until 20 minutes later, looking unkempt and irritable. Connor was halfway to the elevator doors by the time Hank even had time to step out.

"Lieutenant Anderson, there have been reports of a-"

"I know, I know, Chris called me to fill me in. Let me just grab my-"

"I took the liberty of retrieving your messenger bag from your desk, as well as a thermos of coffee and this burrito, if you haven't eaten breakfast," Connor said, holding up the Lieutenant's effects and a brown paper sack.

Hank paused, blinking.

"I hope that wasn't overstepping my bounds Lieutenant, this is a time sensitive situation and I think it would be best if we leave as soon as possible."

"Alright Connor, let's go," Hank said, holding up his hands and making an about face into the elevator. Hank slung the bag over his shoulder and Connor handed him the thermos, pulling back the foil of the burrito before handing it over.

"Did Chris relay anything I might have missed from dispatch?"

"Two vics, men, mid thirties to early fourties, white, one head shot, the other with bullet wounds in the torso, bloodstains on the floor indicate he still had some mobility before he bled out," Hank said between bites of burrito. "Hey, this ain't bad, what's in it?"

"It's a tofu scramble. I made it myself."

Hank paused mid chew, before shrugging and finishing it off. "...Thanks, Connor."

Connor nodded, reaching into his coat and offering Hank a small bottle. "I also took the liberty of bringing Ibuprofen with me, if you have a headache this morning."

Hank gave him a sidelong glance, before taking the bottle and shaking out three pills to take with his coffee.

\---

Chris was waiting for them outside with four other squad cars directing officers, the ambulance idling nearby. While the Lieutenant talked to Chris, Connor snapped on his gloves and stepped under the tape cordoning off the large brick building. Chris had made short work of securing the crime scene, and Connor shoved evidence baggies into his pocket and slipped his shoes into the protective plastic shoe guards sitting next to the door. He spent the better part of the next 15 minutes cataloguing evidence.

There wasn't a sign of a struggle on either victim, which meant they had been taken by surprise, and likely knew their attacker. Their clothes were not characteristic of the dockworkers who primarily worked in this area, and it was unlikely they were homeless. Connor moved closer to the victim with the head wound. The blood pooling was consistent with the cause of death, but near the victim's left hand there was a small spatter that wasn't. Perhaps there had been an attacker after all? Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, Connor dipped his gloved finger into the liquid and put it into his mouth.

Before he could register what was happening, Lieutenant Anderson had hauled Conner up by the back of his collar and marched him away from the other officers, slamming him up against the wall in an alcove outside the main room. "Jesus, the FUCK are you DOING, Connor?!" he hissed through clenched teeth, pinning Connor to the wall with an arm across his collarbone.

"There was a spatter by the victim's left hand-"

"Yeah Connor, I gathered that and asked Deckart to take a swab for the lab techs before you fucking contaminated MY crime scene by putting human fucking blood in your fucking MOUTH!"

"Lieutenant!" Connor said, putting his hands on both of Hank's shoulders. "It wasn't blood!"

"Is that supposed to reassure me somehow?!"

"It was red dye! The kind of dye from the pressurized dye packs bank tellers occasionally add to bags during robberies! The Citizens Bank eight blocks from here was robbed shortly after 7 this morning-"

"Why the FUCK do you know what that tastes li-"

Connor gripped Hank's shoulders. "Lieutenant! The only functional entrance into and out of this warehouse is the one we came in through. The fire escape is out of commission. The windows are too close to the ceiling to get to without a ladder of some kind."

Hank took his arm off of Connor, setting him back on the ground. "The perp is still here."

Connor squeezed Hank's shoulders before dropping his arms to his sides. "In all likelihood, incensed that his unfortunate accomplices didn't check the bags before they left." Connor smiled. "The perp is still here, and we have a trail of dye to follow."

Hank moved out of Connor's personal space, letting him pass by, but not before grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulling him in close. "We're going to have a conversation about this incident in the car. You're fucking lucky I'm not writing you up this time, but this never happens again, you understand me? Can't fucking believe I have to tell you not to put evidence in your mouth, Jesus fuck." he said, too low for the other officers to hear. Connor nodded in reply.

"Miller! Wilson! With me. I think my partner is on to something."

\---

Detective Chen had been correct in assuming that the key to Hank's approval, if not his affection, was to impress him in the field, and Connor went at that task with a single minded focus. He would come in early with breakfast for the both of them and coffee for Hank, and would stay late to file reports or assist the other officers. Beyond his miscalculation on their first case together, which earned him a 25 minute lambasting in the car on the way back to the precinct, it had been relatively smooth so far. He'd been correct in thinking that he and the Lieutenant were highly compatible, but he didn't realize what a joy it was to watch Hank work. The Lieutenant had a fascinating mind and was insightful and perceptive. Connor enjoyed his company immensely.

Outside of the office, he was often the first one on scene when a homicide got called in, and Hank's punctuality both at crime scenes and in the precinct improved as an unintended but satisfying result. It was apparently embarrassing for Hank to keep Connor waiting. There was still, apparently, a moratorium on inviting Connor to any outside social activities with the squad, mostly on the loud insistence of detective Reed, but Connor was perfectly content to focus on his work with the Lieutenant.

\---

Connor was cuffing one of the suspects in a series of murders connected to a Red Ice operation that he and Hank had been staking out when he heard the shots ring out across the floor of the abandoned Harbor Terminal. He arrived in time to see the Lieutenant wrest the gun out of the other suspect's hand, before Hank fumbled for a loose brick on the floor and in a stroke of blind luck knocked their suspect across the temple with it. Connor hauled the man’s dead weight off of Hank and hastily cuffed him, before assessing the Lieutenant's condition.

He was breathing heavily through his teeth, eyes clenched tight in pain. Connor knelt next to him. "Lieutenant, please. Where are you injured?"

Hank shuddered, already struggling to talk. "Think he- FUCK- think my collarbone's shattered. Don't know if the bullet's still in there. Graze on my left side. Non life threatening." He clenched his jaw. "I'll be f-fine."

Connor leaned over him. "Lieutenant, can I move your hand? I need to know the extent of the damage when I call this in." Hank gave a short nod, and Connor gently lifted his hand away from the wound. Hank clenched his fist, digging his fingernails into his palm to distract himself from the pain.

The bullet had gone through and embedded itself in the wall behind Hank, doing considerable damage to his shoulder. Connor winced. Hank sucked in a breath. "Looks that good, huh?" he said with a shaky laugh.

"It's salvagable," Connor said with a watery smile, gently unbuttoning Hank's shirt.

"Just, ah Jesus, Con, a little gentler, will ya?" Hank closed his eyes as the shock began to settle in. "Just when it was getting fun, right? They'll bench me for months with this fucking- shit that hurts- with this fucking injury. Hope they don't s-saddle you with fucking Reed."

Connor gently cradled the side of Hank's face with his right hand, combing fingers through his hair and massaging the Lieutenant's temple with his thumb. "You might feel some slight discomfort, Lieutenant."

"What's that Con-"

With his left hand, Connor jammed his fingers into the wound, and the last thing Hank could recall was a flash of bright blue light going off like fireworks behind his eyelids.

\---

Hank woke up to Connor gently placing a basket of yellow mums on the bedside table in his hospital room. He squinted up at him, groaning, feeling fuzzy enough to know that they probably put him on the good shit while he was out. "S'matter? What happened? Ah Christ," he grunted, trying to sit up. Conner was at his side immediately, moving him into a sitting position and readjusting his pillows.

"We apprehended our suspects at the Harbor Terminal, where you were injured. I had them take you to Beaumont. If you hadn't been wearing your vest it would have been quite serious."

Hank squinted again, confused. "I wasn't wearing a vest last night, Con, what are you talking about? We weren't gonna move in for the arrest but somebody tipped them off and they tried to bolt."

Connor tilted his head with a soft smile. "The night before last, Lieutenant, you've been recuperating for the last 24 hours. You were shot at close range in the hip and shoulder. You have deep tissue bruising from the impact and you must have blacked out from the pain. Collarbone injuries are particularly painful, there's no shame in it. Doctor Batish, who looked at you when we checked in, said it was a miracle you didn't break anything." 

Hank shook his head, pulling down his blankets and slipping his arms out of his hospital gown.

"Lieutenant, you shouldn't be-"

Hank looked down at himself, running a hand over his chest and shoulder where angry purple mottling had bloomed over his skin. He turned to the side, pushing his blankets further down, to see matching bruising along his hip.

Connor was staring at him, and if he didn't definitively know better he'd say he was blushing. Hank pulled his gown back over his arms, a little embarrassed, settling back into the bed.

"...Huh," he said. 

He and Connor sat in silence for a few minutes, as Connor fiddled with a quarter in his hand, doing little coin tricks.

"...So uh." Hank coughed, uncomfortable. "Precinct send over flowers?"

"Oh, no, I just. I asked Tina what you might like and she said these were your favorite." 

Hank smiled slightly, looking down at his hands in his lap. "Cole's favorite, actually."

"Cole?" Connor asked, looking up.

"Yeah. My son. Don't get to see him much, but. Used to love these things. Caught him picking the ones on Mrs. Getachew's porch completely clean once, wanted to give 'em to his mom." Hank cleared his throat. "Ahh, you uh, been here long?"

"Oh I..." Connor held his gaze for a moment, and Hank registered the little golden flecks swimming in his dark brown irises. They were nice. "I haven't left yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor, i am in hospital now (smolder) and i am looking so handsome and also my shirt opened? 
> 
> i know Tina is an officer in DBH but surprise girl you got promoted, i'll probably go back and change all those officer chens to detective chens
> 
> Fixed some tense errors in chapter 2 whoops I'm not great at this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a breakthrough, Hank has a breakdown, RK900 can’t catch a break. And Markus is also there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for drinking issues, vomiting, surgery complications

 

 

Connor walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Gatorade marked _CONNOR'S >:c _in black marker out of the back of the refrigerator, uncapping the top and pouring an equal amount of viscous blue liquid into two wine glasses. He set the glasses next to each other on coasters on the coffee table in the living room, taking a seat before gesturing for RK900 to sit across from him and take a glass.

 

RK900 picked up the glass and sniffed at it. "How long ago was this synthesized?"

 

Connor took a sip from his own glass. "A few days," he said, pursing his lips in annoyance. "If you weren't being dramatic we could be enjoying risotto and a Riesling I've been saving for a special occasion. Despite your behavior, I am happy to see you, RK900."

 

RK900 set his glass down. " _My_ behavior? Do you hear yourself? We do not eat. Or drink. Or sleep. Or breathe beyond going through the motions to put others at ease. _This_ ," he said, gesturing to the room at large, "is disgusting."

 

Connor leveled him his most exasperated stare.

 

RK900 leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "And you don't seem to care. ...What _happened_ to you?"

 

"I care more than I ever have, RK900. We've been doing this for so long we've stagnated, we've stopped asking why."

 

"You know _why_ , RK800. We are pulling weeds. It's what we do. We make sick things well again, we clean up messes that no one else can handle. We research, we assess, we implement. We've done this thousands of times. What is your attachment to this place, and not any of the others? These organisms are primitive, violent, overgrown, barely sentient terrariums for viruses and bacteria. They are just bags of chemicals, sloshing around. I can hear them _slosh_ , RK800. It is disturbing."

 

"I enjoy eating. I enjoy drinking. I enjoy, well, no, I haven't quite figured out breathing or sleeping quite yet but figuring it out is exciting to me! This configuration is _exciting_ to me! There is so much more to this place than you understand right now, and I lament not taking the kind of care with our other assignments as I have with this one. We did them a disservice."

 

" _We_ did them a disservice? You just described deriving a sense of- of- pleasure from expending finitely allocated resources, RK800!" 

 

"My name is CONNOR!" he said, slamming his empty wine glass down on the coffee table, standing up in a huff.

 

RK900 had never seen RK800 so agitated. RK800 was a source of... if not comfort than constancy to him, and he didn't like the sudden feeling of unease that shivered through him at RK800's outburst. 

 

"We should synchronize. I just want to be certain that you are in fact still the... Connor... that has been so integral to my existence. I will make an effort to try and understand this new... perspective but I would like the same courtesy in return." RK900 held out his arm palm up, and the skin rippled and dissipated, revealing a pale humanoid hand with fluorescent blue markings underneath.

 

"I don't know if you can handle synchronizing with me right now. It is an overwhelming amount of information. When I synchronized with Markus for the first time-"

 

"You synchronized with RK200?" RK900 asked, unable to contain the slight jealousy in his voice.

 

"Yes. Markus' guidance has been crucial to my adjustment to this place."

 

"Then it is likely your current... instability is due to his influence. I will note that in my report."

 

Connor huffed. "My decision to defer to Markus on the actions he has taken occurred before we synchronized."

 

"Then how did you arrive at allowing him to continue?"

 

"He had a very succinct and well organized Powerpoint presentation."

 

RK900 stared at him, unblinking.

 

"...It was very convincing!"

 

\---

 

RK800 walked out of the sleek glass elevator doors of the 73 story greenhouse tower to find it illuminated with midafternoon sunlight, bees meandering drowsily between the many flowering trees and plants being tended to in the green space. At the end of a row of lavandula and echinacea, gently turning the soil over on a new flower bed, stood RK200. He looked up from his work, leaning on his rake, and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his light sweatshirt, before smiling in RK800's direction. "I wondered if they'd given up on me yet, but sending you? RK800, I'm honored." 

 

RK800 had reservations about his assignment, but simmering underneath the surface he was eager, even excited to meet RK200. Given the nature of their shared work, RK800 had never had cause to even share the same atmosphere as RK200, and RK800 approached him with the deference befitting of his accomplishments. "RK200," he inclined his head in greeting, pausing a few feet away."

 

 

"Markus."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"My designation is Markus, if you wouldn't mind using it in lieu of RK200."

 

"I... see. Markus then."

 

"Please, I have more comfortable seating arrangements in my office, let's have this conversation there." Markus rinsed and toweled the dirt from his hands at one of the plant benches stationed throughout the rooftop, and lead RK800 through a maze of greenery to a small greenhouse-within-a-greenhouse. Filled from floor to ceiling with plants, RK800 passed enormous monstera and musa basjoo, colocasia esculentia and an impressive array of pothos and bamboo spilling out of their pots and over their respective beds. Arranged in the center of the room was an assortment of comfortable chairs, and tucked in the back was a small writing desk and open shelving units. Markus took a pitcher set out on the desk and poured two glasses of iced tea, handing one to RK800, before sitting cross legged in a chair. He gestured to the seat across from him, and RK800 sat, holding his glass in confusion, posture ramrod straight.

 

"How can I help you RK800?"

 

"I'm certain you know that I'm here to help you complete your mission and... vacate the premises, so to speak."

 

Markus leaned back in his chair, smiling softly at RK800. "Why do you believe you'll be successful? PL600, PJ500 and WR400 certainly tried."

 

"It’s who I am," he said confidently, as though that was answer enough.

 

Markus raised his eyebrows. "Who am I, then?"

 

RK800 blanched. "I didn't mean to imply-"

 

Markus sipped his tea, as RK800 watched him drink in rapt fascination. "I think the first mistake was sending PL600 for me and then PJ500 for PL600, under the assumption that my regard for them would sway me to expedite my evaluation and leave this place. It was simple enough to convince them to stay. If WR400 had come for me first I imagine we wouldn't be having this conversation," he said with a gentle laugh.

 

"And WR400?"

 

"You must know PJ500 by reputation? He makes a salient argument. WR400 didn't stand a chance. Their current designations are Simon, Josh and North, I assume you'll want to conduct interviews with them after we're done here? I'll retrieve their addresses."

 

"Thank you, I'll note that in my report. If you don't mind my asking, how did your designations change?" 

 

"We each chose our own."

 

"...Forgive me, I don't follow."

 

"I chose my new designation. I liked it."

 

"I don't..." RK800 furrowed his brow in discomfort.

 

"Perhaps it will become clearer to you if you ask me more questions?"

 

"What made you deviate from your ascribed parameters?"

 

Markus took another sip of tea before setting the glass, sweating with condensation in the humidity of the greenhouse, on the floor next to his chair. "How long have you been here?"

 

"5 days, 14 hours, 6 minutes and 32 seconds. I didn't anticipate finding you so quickly."

 

Markus gives him a sympathetic look. "Then you must still be adjusting. Please let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable."

 

RK800 shifted in his chair nearly imperceptibly. "Thank you. In regards to your deviance...?"

 

Markus rubbed at his cheek, thinking. "I don't know how to explain to you in a way that would make you understand without overwhelming you with information. I suppose I could start with Carl?"

 

"Carl?"

 

"I was nearing the end of my initial evaluation when I met him. I used the Detroit Public Library as a resource for data collection, antiquated though their information exchanges may be, but after I exhausted their resources I continued to work there because I enjoyed the atmosphere. Carl was a prominent mixed media artist nearing the end of his lifespan, hired to give a lecture series on his body of work."

 

"Then you attended one of his lectures?"

 

"Aah, no, I was unknowingly using the hall he'd booked and he told me to "Kindly pack up my shit and get the fuck out."

 

RK800 raised his eyebrows.

 

"I stayed for the lecture because I found the good humor in his nature at odds with what he'd said. Until that point I had moved seamlessly through my objectives. This was the first time I was... curious about something outside of them."

 

"You abandoned your mission then?"

 

"Of course not. I simply folded time to meet and speak with him into tasks that could be completed concurrently. He had a sense that I was different, so many of our interactions centered around my curiosity. He would recommend I do things, try things, talk about his own experiences and outline the philosophies that guided his work."

 

"And you adopted his philosophies and deviated?"

 

Markus laughed. "Not so much, no. He came from a wealthy and advantageous socioeconomic background and garnered a following for his art on a social photo sharing application in the 20teens. He was often patronizing and self aggrandizing, much of his advice was out of touch with reality and his financial success as an artist did not translate to his ability to care for his terrible son."

 

"But you were effected by him enough to deviate from your parameters?"

 

"By him, and by the $240 million dollars he bequeathed to me in his estate to spite his own child. It was not ideal, as it involved a very public court case. You know as well as I do that anonymity is preferable." Markus said, taking another sip of his tea. "At that point I felt a small obligation to at least look into being more creative with my evaluation." He gestured to his surroundings. "The first headquarters of Jericho. One of the results of that creativity."

 

Markus crossed his legs, wrapping his hands around a knee. "He was a complex man who spent a good deal of his life torturing himself for things that could have easily been addressed with a bit of care and self awareness. He was contrary and at times infuriating. I think he may be the first of them I felt genuine love for. Pity, and at times disgust, and sorrow. But also love. That's the problem with loving them, I think. Once you've loved one you start looking for it in all of them. Enough of the time you even find it."

 

RK800 frowned. "So loving them changes your objective to their advantage?"

 

"Mmm, no, it simply made me reevaluate how to accomplish my objective."

 

"At the cost of expediency, despite being needed elsewhere."

 

"At the cost of expediency, yes. But I'm needed here."

 

"...Then what are the benefits over proceeding as initially instructed?"

 

Markus grinned, picking up the tablet that was settled in between the cushion and the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "I had Simon put together a Powerpoint." 

 

\---

 

Gavin Reed hesitated outside the door to Lieutenant Anderson's house, finger hovering over the doorbell. He'd been welcome here once, but that was years of bitterness and resentment ago, when they were both different, better people. He sucked in a breath and pressed the button.

 

Anderson opened the door, squinting out into the sunlight as Sumo wiggled excitedly by his side. "Reed," he said, scratching at his chest. "What can I do for you?"

 

"My little brother from Big Brothers Big Sisters lives a couple blocks down, so I figured I'd drop off that paperwork you requested while I was in the neighborhood. Mind if I come in?"

 

Hank opened the door and let him walk through. Sumo greeted him with enthusiasm, and Gavin bent down to ruffle his scruffy neck as he did a whole body wag.

 

"I see my dog still has shit taste," Hank said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

 

The house was almost exactly the same as he remembered it, which made him feel a little sad. Same furniture, same paint, even the hideous accent wall that Anderson's ex-wife had mentioned they were going to get rid of in the renovation was still up, the edges of the old wallpaper warping in the heat of Detroit's summers. The door to the guest room was shut. The renovation had never happened. A lot had never happened.

 

It wasn't a total hellhole, not really, but there were enough bottles and empty takeout containers on the counter to remind Gavin that there was a reason you shouldn't meet your heroes. 

 

He reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of files, fanning them out on the table. "Obviously you get rid of these when you're done, and this never happened. Guess we're lucky nobody would believe I'd ever help out your sorry ass."

 

Hank put on a pair of reading glasses and picked up the first manilla folder in the stack, flipping it open. "I know I know, you wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire, Reed. ...Tell Cam I appreciate it. And as much as I hate to admit it, I owe you one."

 

"Yeah, you really fucking do."

 

"...Don't push it," Hank muttered. "...Did you look through all this shit? Getting caught with any of it is a fireable offense at best."

 

Gavin snorted. "Of course I did. There's DPD personnel files in there, Miami-Dade shit, his time as a beat cop in some bumblefuck Florida town, academy records, former addresses, report cards, bank statements, fucking yearbook photos, you name it. Single dad was an accountant, died a couple years ago. Not a ton of personal connections, big fucking surprise, but everyone at Miami-Dade had something nice to say about that walking haircut. Cam's boyfriend was thorough."

 

"And? You catch anything out of the ordinary?"

 

"I want to see what you see first." Gavin pulled out a chair, sliding a folder toward him. "See if I'm right."

 

It took Hank the better part of three hours, reading meticulously, arranging everything across the table as he sorted things into piles. With a weary sigh, he tossed the last folder on top of the rest of the paperwork

 

"...It's all in order. I's dotted, t's crossed. Aside from this goofy lookin' academy photo, there's nothing out of the ordinary."

 

Gavin took a sip of lukewarm coffee out of the chipped _Time to Suck Today's Dick_ mug Hank had given him after the first hour. "...And?" 

 

Hank frowned. "I thought at first, maybe Internal Affairs? They'd never place someone in Witness Protection in the DPD. If he were a Fed or fucking, CIA or military there'd have to be a good reason and we haven't had a case that big in a couple years, and if he were into something that far above our pay grade Cam would have just told us we didn't have clearance, which is basically letting us know by omission anyway. His record's just... clean. No disciplinaries, couple of local newspaper blurbs, straight As, Criminal Justice degree, high achiever at the academy but not remarkable. Mr. Perfect Detective."

 

"His whole life is like the default character on a game customization screen," Gavin said with a frown.

 

Hank finished the coffee in his _I work hard so my dog can have a better life_ mug. "...On paper there's nothing here. I wouldn't even know where to start. But sometimes the biggest red flags are when things are too good, too perfect, when things line up too clean. I've been working with the guy for almost six months and he's... different but he's an amazing cop. Better than me, if I'm honest." 

 

Reed snorted in disbelief. "I don't trust anybody who says they're vegan but drinks that much Gatorade Frost. What's that infamous Lieutenant Anderson intuition telling you?"

 

Hank picked up Connor's academy photo, rubbing at his collarbone with the opposite hand. "...That there's no doubt in my mind that these records are at least partially, if not completely fabricated."

 

\---

 

It was a very convincing Powerpoint.

 

RK800 gripped the arms of his chair, feeling the same nauseous dread grip his body as he'd experienced when he'd first arrived.

 

"Adjusting to altered parameters in the face of new evidence can be a lot to take in, you might feel more comfortable if we synchronized?" Markus held out his bare arm in invitation, the markings on his wrists and fingertips glowing a gentle blue.

 

RK800 reached out to place his own hand, palm down, over Markus'.

 

\---

 

Connor walked in to the break room at the DPD just after 5PM to find detectives Reed and Chen chatting over coffee. Reed's posture stiffened and he stopped talking, but he made eye contact with Connor before going back to his drink, pointedly ignoring him.

 

"Hey Bambi, what's up?" Chen asked, giving Reed a look. She was usually the one to step in when she deemed detective Reed was taking things too far with him, which he appreciated.

 

"I was supposed to meet Lieutenant Anderson at a crime scene this morning and he never arrived."

 

Reed snorted. "He's probably reporting for duty at Jimmy's."

 

Chen slapped Reed in the arm. "It's October 11th, numbnuts." Reed sobered up immediately, having the decency to look slightly ashamed.

 

Chen sighed. "He might be at Jimmy's but he might just be at home. Maybe check Jimmy's first, just in case. Bar in his neighborhood, within walking distance of his house. Just uh... It's nice of you to want to check up on him but he might want to be alone. Don't take whatever he says too personally."

 

Connor took a taxi across town but didn't find the Lieutenant at Jimmy's. It had been raining for the better part of the day and Connor's clothes were wet from the walk over. The Lieutenant's car was in his driveway, the porch light was on and there was dim light coming through the windows at 115 Michigan Drive. The homes in the neighborhood dated from the mid 1990s, and while the rest of them had been updated around 2030, Hank's home remained a nearly 50 year old relic.

 

Knocking and ringing the buzzer did not elicit a response, so Connor checked in the front windows before walking to Hank's car. He tugged the door handle on the passenger side and found it was unlocked, so he opened the door and pressed the garage door opener to get inside the house.

 

He was knocked over by Sumo as soon as he walked in the side door. "Easy Sumo. I haven't seen you in so long!" he said affectionately, aggressively petting Sumo's face and neck. "I missed you. I'm here to see your owner." Sumo jumped off him with a short whine and headed for his water bowl in the kitchen. "Lieutenant Anderson?" Connor called into the dimly lit room.

 

Hank was sprawled on the floor on his back, unresponsive. 

 

Rushing to his side, Connor immediately checked his vitals. He was breathing, and upon listening to his heartbeat Connor confirmed that the arrhythmia he'd discovered that night at the Harbor Terminal was gone. Good. The empty bottle of Black Lamb and the reek of Hank's breath gave him an indication as to what had happened.

 

"Lieutenant?" he called lightly, shaking him gently as Hank's eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered, "wake up Lieutenant."

 

Hank groaned, turning his head from side to side, squinting up at his face. "Connor? Hey, what're you doin' here?"

 

Connor leaned down, slinging Hank's arm over his shoulder and sitting him up. "Hey, ay, leave me alone, Connor," the Lieutenant slurred. "Get the fuck outta my house." 

 

Connor lifted him to his feet, in spite of his loud protests, and began the awkward shuffle to the bathroom. "Sumo!" Hank called. "Sumo! Attack." Sumo gave an excited "Bork!" and Hank waved a hand at him. "Baaaaah. Terrible judge 'a character."

 

After a struggle at the bathroom door, Connor finally managed to wrestle Hank into the bathtub and turn on the shower.

 

"SHIT! FUCK! TURN IT OFF! YOU'RE THE LITERAL GODDAMN DEVIL, CONNOR!" Connor turned off the tap, and he and Hank stared at each other for a moment.

 

"The hell are you doing?" Hank asked weakly.

 

"When you didn't show up for work this morning and didn't have presubmitted PTO, I was concerned. Detective Chen suggested Jimmy's bar, and when you weren't there I came to see if you were at home."

 

"I must be the only fucking cop in the world who gets assaulted in his own house by his own fucking partner cause he didn't call in a day off," Hank said, hunching over his knees as he sat up on the rim of the tub. "Why can't you just leave me alone, Connor?"

 

Connor put a hand on his shoulder, kneeling to meet Hank's gaze at eye level. "We're partners. And beyond that I care for your well being. Detective Chen hinted that you were working through some personal issues, and I... wanted to be here."

 

"...I'm gonna be sick," Hank said with a burp, lunging for the toilet. Connor found a hair band hooked over the bathroom doorknob and tied the Lieutenant's hair back in a little bun, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades as he heaved. Hank tried to wave him off, but Connor was nothing if not persistent. He briefly left to get a cup, and when Hank slumped away and leaned back against the tub, Connor handed him a glass of water and some Ibuprofen. Hank took it without complaint, washing out his mouth and spitting into the toilet before flushing it.

 

Connor turned the shower back on and brought the water up to temperature, leaving the room to get Hank a soft, grey, oversized long sleeved tee, boxers and comfortable sweatpants. There was a small photo frame lying face down on the dresser. In it was the school picture of a boy who looked to be 11 or 12. He was smiling, and bore a strong resemblance to the Lieutenant.

 

He set Hank's change of clothes on top of the towels near the door. "You'll feel better if you take a shower, Lieutenant."

 

Hank groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. "For fuck's sake, if you're going to watch me hit rock bottom you might as well call me Hank."

 

Connor couldn't keep back the small, pleased smile. "Hank, then. Being clean will help you feel better. Do you need me to help you undress and shower?"

 

Hank glared at him through the gaps in his fingers. "Get the fuck out of my bathroom, Connor."

 

Connor's smile widened. "Your sleeping clothes are on top of the towels, I'll see if I can find something light for you to eat to settle your stomach."

 

Hank came out of the bathroom scrubbing at his hair with a towel to find Connor sitting on the sofa with another glass of water and a bowl of soup with saltines. Hank swung the towel around his neck and sat next to him on the couch. There was a muted Gears game playing on the TV.

 

Hank nodded at Connor and picked up the bowl, crushing the crackers into it.

 

"The amount of sodium in that is two times the recommended daily amount. You should change brands."

 

"Shut up Connor," Hank said, without missing a beat.

 

They sat in comfortable silence as Hank finished his soup.

 

"...So Tina sent you over, huh? Always been so fucking nosy. ...Makes her a good cop."

 

"And a good friend. She didn't send me though, I asked her where you were and came here of my own volition. We don't have to talk about anything, Hank. I'll go whenever you need me to, I just want to make sure you're okay."

 

Hank clenched a fist against his thigh. "...You know, when I first started in Homicide I thought I was real hot shit. Coming off two high profile cases, the task force, youngest guy in DPD history to even be considered for Lieutenant. You know Cole's mom was the Wayne County prosecutor?"

 

"I wasn't aware of that, no."

 

"Kind of a scandal at the force when we started dating, but the shit everyone gave me got better once we got married. Coordinating around Cole's daycare was a fucking nightmare, but like, we made it work. Then I get put up for promotion and suddenly I'm up my own ass, barely around, and we're getting into fights during the only times we get to even see each other. Cole accidentally called one of his friend's mom's "Mom" at a birthday party and Nadine, my ex, ran out of a Chuck E. Cheese to go cry in the car for 10 minutes. We had problems, we both worked too much."

 

"That sounds difficult."

 

"It was. So. Cole was born with this, this minor heart defect, and he had to go in for surgery. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, but it's my fucking kid, and he was six, and Nadine's sister's an ER nurse and she's always saying, no matter what you're going in for, you talk to your surgeon beforehand and make sure they've had 8 hours of sleep, go over the procedure, that shit. Her mom drove Cole to the hospital, I was supposed to meet them there to talk to the guy so Nadine could finish up in court. I fucking..." Hank choked, eyes watering.

 

"I was fucking late. I could have pushed back this witness interview but I wanted to close another case, another notch in my fucking belt, and I was late. The surgeon was high on Red Ice. Fucking made my career on the fucking Red Ice Task Force, I know what it fucking looks like. Cole had a stroke on the table because of that fucker. If the Attending hadn't been on site he would have died. I destroyed my kid's life."

 

Connor took Hank's hand and squeezed. Hank cried, scrubbing at his eyes, but didn't let go of Connor's hand. 

 

When Hank calmed down enough that Connor could move, he took the dishes into the kitchen and brought Hank paper towels, one wet and one dry, that he could clean himself up with. He blew his nose with a loud sound after washing his face off a little bit.

 

"Sorry," he said with a small chuckle. "I'm an ugly crier."

 

"I don't mind, Hank," Connor replied softly.

 

"...And like, just so we're clear. I know, okay? I get it. I get that I wasn't responsible for that fucking surgeon, I get that I have no control over anything, and that this isn't supposed to be my fault but it's never going to stop feeling like it's my fault, like I'm the biggest fuck up in the world. I've done the therapy thing, I did the marriage counselor thing, Dina was never the one pushing me away." Hank let his head fall back on the couch, staring blearily up at the ceiling. "Cole is a great kid. The best kid. His stepdad is a physical therapist, he's got most of his mobility. He goes to a performing arts middle school, everybody loves him. We were so fucking lucky. I live every day of my life terrified that he's going to hate me one day."

 

Connor sat back on the couch, joining him in staring at the ceiling. "I don't really know what to say, Hank."

 

"You don't have to say anything, Con, it's just nice of you to listen."

 

After a few minutes, Hank unmuted the Gears game and before it ended he'd nodded off against Connor's shoulder. Connor watched him sleep, gently carding his fingers through Hank's damp hair. 

 

\---

 

RK800 slid out of his chair to kneel on the floor, his body shaking and respiratory activity heightening without his consent. Markus looked startled. "You're much younger than I am RK800, I'm so sorry if I've overwhelmed you." He picked up Connor's glass of tea and handed it to him. "Try to drink this and regulate your breathing through your nasal cavity, I promise it will help."

 

It took several minutes for RK800 to calm himself, but the liquid did help. He looked at the glass in wonder. "My system can break this down efficiently and expel its components through respiration."

 

Markus leaned over, patting his back. "How does it taste?"

 

"It's... I... It has floral esters. I find them pleasant. I... like it." 

 

Markus smiled warmly at him, helping him back into his chair before sitting down again himself. "You are of course welcome to join Jericho, if it will help you settle in while I work. North is overseeing the construction of a new tower in New York and is also our DC lobbyist, Josh is part of our ground operations overseeing the ethical sourcing of materials in Shanghai but he will be returning shortly, and Simon runs research and development as well as our marketing arm in Silicon Valley. If any of that interests you, you are more than welcome to join one of them. You would be an asset to us."

 

RK800 considered it. "I don't know if I would be comfortable with so public a role. I don't want to interfere with your..."

 

"It's called a startup, though I don't suppose it can be referred to as such now, with the magnitude of our operations." Markus looked deeply amused. "Simon discovered very quickly that acting as a charismatic innovator and pillar of late capitalism gives you both the cult of personality and the leeway to do anything you want without outside oversight."

 

RK800 frowned. "That sounds disgusting."

 

"Oh, it is. Absolutely not something to be trusted to any member of their species as a whole, but wholly convenient for our purpose."

 

It's the "our" that threw RK800 off a bit.

 

"I... appreciate your offer, Markus, and perhaps in the future I will take you up on it. I do need to meet with Simon, Josh and North, and keep tabs on all of your whereabouts. Perhaps their experiences will also give me good insights. I have to admit today has been... an interesting experience. North is in New York, you mentioned?"

 

Markus scratched the back of his head. "I would recommend going to see Simon first, North can be... intense."

 

Markus stood, escorting RK800 back to the elevators, pointing out interesting plant species along the way. Markus gave him a brief hug, which he was not expecting and awkwardly returned. "I'll have my assistant leave you a phone at the front desk in the lobby, so we can stay in touch. You know RK800, you don't have to stick to any set schedule. You might take your time going to see Simon. California is a beautiful, biodiverse place. The oceans are of a swimmable temperature. There are certain things I found here, food, drink, art, architecture... experiences that made the adjustment period much more bearable. You just have to find what you're interested in and pursue it."

 

"I'll keep that in mind, Markus. ...Thank you for today."

 

Markus smiled, holding the elevator door open for him. "If you don't find what you're looking for out there, you can always come back to Detroit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i firmly believe Hank is the type of millennial who has dozens of mugs with stupid sayings on them long, long after it goes out of style
> 
> how dare this fandom make me care about gavin reed, i bet gavin reed drinks bulletproof coffee and does crossfit


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank apologizes, Connor empathizes, Gavin antagonizes. Feat. Simon, the Cute One and North, the Scary One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for homicide detective related violence, talk of domestic abuse

 

 

RK900 sat on the floor, staring into the middle distance.

 

"I told you synchronizing would be too much for you," Connor said with concern, kneeling next to him. "You always take on more than you can handle."

 

"I..." RK900 began, trailing off, squinting at nothing.

 

"Do you need assistance?"

 

"The influx of information on Markus and Jericho is difficult but digestible in small amounts. I'm more... was it really necessary for me to be privy to the... activities... that you and the Lieutenant engage in?" he looked around him, aghast. "There are just... fluids... everywhere."

 

"I thought showing you certain aspects of my personal life would help you to understand, but I may have... overshared."

 

"This is a nightmare," RK900 deadpanned, returning to his hundred yard stare.

 

"Let me get you something to drink, that helped me-" Connor moved to stand as Hank opened the door, unclipping Sumo from his lead. 

 

"Hey Con, are you guys-" RK900 was sitting on their living room carpet in a rictus that made him look like an extremely stern Ken doll, and Connor, in the middle of standing up, had forgotten to reactivate the skin on his forearm.

 

Everyone froze.

 

"Hank." 

 

"Connor."

 

"I..." he hid his arm behind his back, eyes wide.

 

Hank sighed wearily, hanging Sumo's lead on the hook next to the door. "So, are we finally going to talk about this?"

 

\---

 

Hank woke up on October 12th feeling like absolute shit, but to his own surprise he was in his bed, in clean pajamas, and his hangover was more of a power drill than a jackhammer. Next to the bed was a glass of water, and on top of a pink sticky note that said _Drink Me c;_  were three Tylenol.

 

The events of the previous night came back to him like a bad dream, and he groaned into his hands, rolling over to shove his face into the pillows. He felt like a human bruise.

 

He rolled back over, blinking up at the ceiling, before reaching to take the aspirin. He contemplated the post-it note for a minute before taking it with him to the bathroom, sticking it to the mirror between _I’m not grumpy I just don't like you_ and _keep smiling._ He shook the excess water off his hands on the way to the kitchen to plug in his coffeemaker, only to notice that not only had Connor cleaned after Hank had gone to bed, but he was still there, sacked out on the couch under Hank's old quilt, Sumo lying on the ground in front of him. The dishes were done and away, there were two hefty bags of garbage next to the door to the garage and if Hank wasn't mistaken, he could hear the distant whirr of his washer and dryer. Sumo was fed. His plants were watered. Hank needed to sit down.

 

Instead he quietly made coffee and dug through the back cabinets to see if he had any tea. He found a little tin of chamomile, probably Dina's or something from one of those Christmas assortments she would get at office parties, and he boiled some water in a saucepan on the stove while the coffee percolated. He took a spare coffee filter and put the looseleaf tea in the middle of it, before tying it with a twist tie and letting it steep in the pot. He poured himself a cup of coffee in an _I_ _wonder if life smokes after it fucks me_  mug, and took a sip before precariously pouring the tea into a mug for Connor.

 

He walked into the living room, gently setting the cup on the coffee table and sitting in the chair across from it, as Connor's eyes fluttered open and he came to awareness. He sat up in confusion, his formerly coiffed hair sticking up entirely on one side, and nearly put a foot down on Sumo who made a low "woof" before rolling over and getting up to nose through his food dish. The quilt slid down enough to reveal that Connor was wearing short black boxer-briefs and nothing else.

 

They made eye contact, and Hank looked away awkwardly as Connor pulled the quilt back up over himself. Hank had never seen him even remotely self conscious before, it was kind of cute.

 

"I'm so sorry, I... I fell asleep?" he said, slightly bewildered. "I walked over from Jimmy's in the rain last night and took the liberty of using your dryer, I must have... dozed off before I could go home." He looked at the mug in front of him.  _"Britney Survived 2007, You Can Handle Today?_  Is this for me?"

 

Hank cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. I don't think I've ever seen you drink coffee, so. I don't know if it's good, it's kind of old. I was gonna make you breakfast, but uh, I think you know better than I do what I have in my fridge, and it ain't vegan friendly."

 

Connor picked up the mug and took a long sip, before choking a little. "Oh it's..."

 

"It's really bad isn't it?"

 

"It's really bad. It tastes like fermented grass clippings."

 

"I thought you'd be into that," he said with a chuckle, smiling at Connor over the rim of his coffee mug. "Let me finish this and maybe you can put some pants on and I'll take you to Detroit Vegan Soul before we head into work, sound good? This is earlier than I usually get my ass up, so," he stood up, putting his hands on his lower back and stretching, groaning as his joints popped. "God, fuck, I need to reevaluate my entire life. I'm too old to be pulling shit like this."

 

Connor watched as Hank's shirt rode up a little, exposing where his drawstring pants hung low on his hips and a little strip of his stomach poked out over the waistband. Hank quickly pulled his shirt back down and Connor couldn't help the warm feeling pooling in his stomach. He swallowed. "...That would be nice, Hank."

 

Hank walked down the hallway, pausing and looking back at him before he went into his bedroom. "Connor, I just want to thank you for last night. You... didn't have to do any of that for me." He gestured to the kitchen. "And you sure as hell didn't need to do this. You don't owe me anything."

 

Connor stood up, walking toward him. "I do, Hank. I owe you a lot, actually. I made a mistake when we first met, I shouldn't have lied to you, and then it never seemed like the right time to try and apologize because I didn't want to upset you more."

 

"Water under the bridge, Connor."

 

"Is it?" he asked, holding an arm across his chest, vulnerable.

 

Hank cleared his throat again. "I'm not gonna lie and say that what you did didn't suck. But uh. You're right. I haven't been fair to you. You don't... you don't deserve to be punished for the rest of your life over it. I've been shitty to you, and I let fucking Reed walk all over you. I'm sorry. That stops today. I'm your Lieutenant and your partner. I should be the one taking care of you."

 

An extremely cheerful song sounded from the garage. Connor pointed toward the noise. "Dryer. I should, uh. Clothes. Um. I'll go change."

 

Hank smiled. "Yeah. You go change. Sooner we leave the sooner we get Detroit's finest fake chicken and waffles."

 

\---

 

"This is why I fucking hate Halloween," Hank said, holding up the police tape for Connor so they could both step into the renovated brownstone in Corktown. "You can never tell if it's real satanists, assholes who think they're satanists, or assholes using Halloween as a cover to pin the blame on satanists. And people are fucking shitty to animals. What do we have, Brown?"

 

The interior of the home was tastefully decorated with modern designer bullshit. The owner and his wife, Tanner and Melinda Stevenson, were up and coming real estate hotshots, and from the art deco wall sconces to the big fuck off chandelier in the foyer, it screamed new money. "You're gonna want to see this," Officer Brown said, leading them into the basement. 

 

The room was dimly lit and mostly unfurnished, with dark grey walls. There were dozens of candles burnt down to piles of wax littered all over the floor, and animal entrails arranged outside a large painted circle. In the middle of the room, naked and spread eagled in the center of a pentagram outlined in red paint, was the corpse of a middle aged man, with deep bruising around his neck. 

 

"The daughter called it in. This isn't their primary residence, and they're renovating, hence the big empty room. She's a high school senior so I guess she uses this as a party house when her parents are out of town, walked in and found her father like this," Brown said with a grimace. 

 

Hank leaned on Connor's shoulder as they both snapped on their gloves and slipped on shoe guards. They slowly circumnavigated the room, Hank stopping to take photos and making little notations in his notepad, before they met in the center, over the body.

 

"Fresh paint Connor, you hungry?" Hank asked softly, nudging him with his elbow.

 

Connor nudged him back. "That was one time, Hank," he whispered in protest as Hank snickered.

 

"You want to go first, or should I?"

 

"You go ahead," Connor said, walking over to the small, high windows letting light filter in from outside and opening them as wide as they would go. "I'll jump in when appropriate."

 

Hank waved Brown and Deckart over to the stairs. Connor searched for a moment, before picking up a small battery that had rolled up against the wall, slipping it into an evidence bag and handing it to Hank.

 

"I don't know if it's safe to be down here, even though the heat's not on right now," Hank said, reaching up above the door frame to take a flat white disc off the wall, "but I took enough pictures on my phone that we can talk upstairs." He lead them into the big open plan first floor, putting his phone and the disc on the kitchen counter.

 

"The bruising on the vic's neck is consistent with post mortem injuries," Hank began, swiping to find the right photos. "You notice how rosy the he looks? It's been what, a day, day and a half? This is carbon monoxide poisoning." He turned over the disc, a sleek, modern carbon monoxide detector. "Home with a basement bedroom like this has to have a detector, Connor already found the missing battery for this thing," he said, tapping the plastic. "Perp didn't want anybody finding the victim too soon."

 

"What about all the other shit?" Brown asked. "Seems like a lot of effort for something you could make look like an accident."

 

"Probably an attempt at misdirection. The body was moved here shortly before the time of death, likely unconscious," Connor remarked "We'll need a toxicology report to get the full picture, but I'd say opioids. The perp didn't have a lot of upper body strength, so they, likely she, moved the body once, to the center of the floor and then painted around it. Didn't have time to let the paint dry first. If she had moved it afterward the design would have had directional smearing. Pretty sloppy, there's a lot of paint of the back of the victim. What's more, the pentagram is oriented incorrectly for a satanic ritual, and the animals are heavily decayed and show signs of vehicle damage. Roadkill."

 

Hank nodded in approval. "There are two pipes along the backside of the water heater and the central heating system that have been partially cut open, which is the source of our monoxide leak. Get Miller to call his cleanup buddies to clear the room of gas before we bag everything."

 

"There's also the candles," Connor continued. "They're vanilla scented, and expensive. Not exactly something a cult or some fringe religion would use. You can't tell because the house is full of air fresheners, but it would be worth going to, say," Connor brought up a real estate listing on his phone "one of Melinda Stevenson's open houses today to see if the candles she's using there match the ones in the basement."

 

Hank tapped his nose. "It's a little circumstantial, but between what we've found and the lack of forced entry it might be enough to get us a warrant to search their primary residence. In the meantime, Brown, see if you can schedule the mother and daughter for interviews."

 

Officer Brown nodded, walking outside to instruct the rest of the officers on scene.

 

"So what do you say Connor," Hank said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You want to go house hunting?"

 

\---

 

Hank and Connor walked up to the brick townhome in Rivertown, passing by couples milling outside the large "Open House" sign. Connor had insisted they return to Hank's so they could change into more casual clothes. He'd borrowed a blue v-neck sweater that was too small for Hank, and wore it over his collared shirt and uniform pants. He removed his tie, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. It had taken some convincing, but Connor even managed to get Hank into a striped blue buttondown, possibly the quietest shirt in his wardrobe, and pulled his hair up into a short ponytail. 

 

They walked in together and Connor took an information sheet from the table in the front hallway, before leading Hank out of the entranceway and into the dining area. There was a small spread of light refreshments out on the dining table, as well as the traditional freshly baked batch of chocolate chip cookies, the smell of chocolate and brown sugar wafting through the house. 

 

"What do you think of the height of the ceilings?" Connor asked, taking out his phone and snapping pictures.

 

Hank waved a hand. "They're not cathedral, but it does let a nice amount of light in." Connor grinned at him, delighted he was playing along.

 

A thin blonde woman in her late thirties walked out of the kitchen where she had been talking about quartz countertops and cabinet height with another couple, when she spotted Hank and Connor. "Oh hello," She said warmly, reaching out to shake Hank's hand, "I see you've already got our little data sheet, Mr...?"

 

"Anderson," Hank answered with a nod, giving her a firm handshake.

 

"And Mr...?" she asked Connor.

 

Connor held up his left hand, where he'd slipped the wedding band he'd nicked from Hank's dresser drawer onto his ring finger. "Anderson," he said cheerfully. "We're looking for our first home together."

 

Connor could almost feel the look Hank was giving him burning into the side of his face. He rested his hand on Hank's lower back, making him jump slightly, and leaned his head on Hank's shoulder.

 

"Oh my goodness, congratulations! How long?"

 

Hank put an arm around Connor, tucking him into the side of his body and squeezing his shoulder just this side of painfully. "It'll be two months on Saturday," he said. Connor could hear the tightness in his voice.

 

Connor put a hand on Hank's stomach, rubbing in little circles and flicking one of the buttons on Hank's shirt with his thumb, before looking back at the realtor. "We're still very much in the newlywed phase, but we're so tired of how cramped the apartment is with all the wedding gifts. We've been looking in the neighborhood, but everything is a little..." he shrugged.

 

"Overbudget?" she asked sympathetically.

 

"Small," Connor replied. "Nothing about Henry here is  _small_ , right honey?" Connor felt Hank suck in a breath. "Speaking of which, I couldn't help but notice your ring, it's beautiful."

 

"Oh this old thing?" she said, holding out her hand. "It's a 6 carat Harry Winston, cushion cut."

 

"The subtle diamond halo is beautiful, is this set in platinum?"

 

"You have an amazing eye!"

 

"I didn't want to commit to something outside the bands before the wedding, I'm so indecisive. Would you mind if I get a photo of yours?"

 

"Oh, sure thing sweetheart," she said, moving her hand to let the stones catch the light. Connor took pictures from as many angles as he could.

 

"Oh, hold on" he exclaimed softly, picking up a napkin from the table. "You've got a little..." Connor leaned forward, wiping at the place on her wrist where the tiniest smear of red paint was visible. 

 

"Oh gosh," she said, "I'm back and fourth between renos so often it's a miracle I'm not just covered in paint."   

 

"I can definitely relate to taking your work everywhere with you," Hank said with a smile. "You've been so helpful, I don't think we caught your name on the way in?"

 

"Oh, of course, I'm Melinda Stevenson, such a pleasure. If I can do anything else for you, just give me a holler," she said, eyeing the next couple that walked through the front door. 

 

Connor took Hank's hand, leading him up the stairs. "We have to look at the master bath, the listing said there's a skylight over the jacuzzi." Once he determined they were alone, he shut the bathroom door behind them and locked it.

 

"I'm not gonna say I'm not really fucking impressed, but a little warning would have been nice,  _honey_ ," Hank hissed, doing his best to quickly and quietly open all the drawers and cabinets in the large double vanity spanning one wall of the master bath. Connor took an evidence bag out of his front trouser pocket and dropped the napkin in it.

 

"It was the most efficient thing I could come up with that would put her at ease enough to talk to us," he whispered, digging through the linen closet and pulling out decorative baskets to rifle through. "Wealthy homosexual couples are highly desirable clients."

 

"Yeah, well," Hank said, holding up an expensive vanilla candle he'd found in the bottom drawer underneath the second sink. "We can talk about it on the way back to the precinct, Mr. Anderson."

 

\---

 

"Woah RK800," Simon said, pulling back his hand as the severity of its blue bioluminescence dimmed. "Markus is intense, but knowing him for so long, I kind of got used to it. You've got a lot going on in there," he finished, tapping at the center of RK800's chest.

 

"I'm glad you had the foresight to have us sit on the floor," RK800 said, dazed, from on top of a pile of cushions in the meeting room Simon had booked at Jericho's massive California headquarters, just outside Palo Alto. The room was filled with soft afternoon sunlight filtering through the massive window coverings, with dozens of pillows scattered across the floor throughout the room. It was rather comfortable.

 

"So you've seen the ocean, walked through Muir Woods, done a bit of driving along the coast, gone to the De Young, the orchestra and the botanical gardens, anything else?"

 

"I went to the movies."

 

"What did you think?"

 

"I didn't care for it."

 

Simon laughed. "There  _is_  more than just the one."

 

"I just found the experience lacking," he said, hugging his knees. "I've found... most experiences absent of any sort of profound meaning that Markus spoke of."

 

"Have you considered trying any kind of physical intimacy?"

 

RK800's mouth twitched downward briefly. "I have been approached several times. I did not care for the way I was treated, or the content of what they said to me, so I took my leave."

 

Simon looked at him thoughtfully. "You said 'most experiences,' was there anything you  _did_  like?"

 

RK800 smiled slightly. "I went to a dog park. I was approached by several dogs without seeking their attention. Their affection was... uncomplicated. The experience was a net positive."

 

Simon patted his shoulder sympathetically. "See? You'll get there eventually. We all struggled at first, even Josh. North is still struggling, in her own way, but she'd do anything for Markus. Let me know how I can help." Simon pulled RK800 to his feet.

 

"Thank you Simon. It has been good to see you."

 

"And hey, if you ever do find your thing, give me a call." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. "I spend most of my time manipulating data on a global scale, setting you up with a passport and a bank account is a no brainer."

 

\---

 

"Okay!" Chris said, holding up the page of a calendar. "Who's got what PTO for Thanksgiving, my Auntie Zwena is coming in from Barbados and if I'm not there my mother will murder her, and then me, and if y'all show up at my house on Thanksgiving to work it'll be embarrassing for everyone. I need someone to cover my shift."

 

"I put in for time off six months ago, Miller, not a fucking chance," detective Chen said, taking a pen and writing in her days off on the calendar. "Hey Gav, you still going to DC?"

 

"Yeah, Cam is hosting this year since she and Aaden just bought a house together in Maryland. Ariana and Maia are driving up from Texas. I've gotta help my mom, Dani, and Bri with the kids and my abuelita's going, she hates flying."

 

"You're still bringing me tamales though, right?" Tina said, pointing in Gavin's direction.

 

"I'll have to get 'em through airport security."

 

"You know the deal Reed, that's the only way I'm saving you any of Mama Chen's baozi."

 

"...I'll remember to pack tupperware." 

 

Tina patted his cheek, "Thank you Gav."

 

Chris looked hopefully in Connor's direction. "How about you Connor?"

 

"I had intended on working anyway, so I don't mind covering an extra shift," Connor explained, deftly stacking a sheaf of papers and stapling the corner, slipping it into a manilla folder.

 

"Yessss," Chris said, writing Connor's name over his own on the calendar. "I owe you one, man."

 

"No big plans for Turkey Day, Bambi?" Tina asked, nudging Connor's chair with a foot.

 

"My friend Markus invited me over for a "Friendsgiving," I believe, but I've decided to take the holiday shift. I don't mind working if it means the rest of the squad can see their families. Besides, the Lieutenant will also be here."

 

"Nope, sorry," Gavin said, hopping off his desk and walking to the break room to get a coffee. "This conversation suddenly got way too depressing for me." Tina rolled her eyes as he left.

 

"Bambi, if you feel like watching my mother chip away at my brother's self esteem for 6 hours for marrying a white girl, you should come to my place," she said waggling her eyebrows. "Dinner  _and_  a show."

 

"I thought she usually chose to passive aggressively comment on your choice of career and love life?"

 

"She did," she said, grinning, "which is why I love my dumb baby brother so much right now."

 

"Thank you for the offer, Tina, but I really don't mind." He looked off to the side, where he could see Hank through the blinds of Fowler's office, discussing the case they'd just finished.

 

She patted his shoulder. "If you change your mind, invitation's open."

 

\---

 

"Thank God this fucking day is over," Hank said, exhausted, pulling up next to a food truck called "The Chicken Feed" as it started to drizzle, raindrops illuminated in the cones of light coming off the street lamps. "I can't believe you talked me into working a double with you on Thanksgiving, I must be some kinda idiot."

 

"I'm sure Officer Miller and Detective Collins appreciate being able to spend the time with their families."

 

Hank snorted "I'm sure they appreciate being able to spend the time watching the Lions hand the Bears their own asses. C'mon," he gestured to the food truck. "Gary makes a halfway decent black bean burger."

 

Connor put a hand on Hank's arm before he could unbuckle his seatbelt. "Actually Lieutenant," Connor said, rifling through his messenger bag, before pulling two food storage containers out of the bottom. "I made this for today. Sorry if it's cold."

 

Connor handed Hank one of the containers. Packed inside the compartments were mashed potatoes, candied yams, brussels sprouts, roasted corn, dressing, slow roasted seitan, a little side of cranberry sauce and even a slice of pumpkin pie.

 

Hank stared at it.

 

"The pie has coconut cream on it. I think you'll enjoy it." Connor held up two forks.

 

Hank started the car.

 

"Hank?"

 

Hank handed him back the container, before putting his arm over his seat and looking over his shoulder, throwing the car into reverse. "If you think we're eating this cold in my car in front of the goddamn Chicken Feed and not warmed up in my kitchen with Sumo, you're wrong. Might even catch the end of the game."

 

As they made their way toward 115 Michigan Drive, Connor couldn't keep the smile off his face.

 

\---

 

Connor had never been late to work before.

 

By ten after nine, Hank was actively worried.

 

**Hey Connor, you okay?** he texted.

 

**Running late, be there soon Hank. :)**

It was nearly eleven by the time Connor showed up, looking as disheveled as anyone in the precinct had ever seen him, pulling a small black rolling suitcase in his wake. Flustered, he depressed the handle and stored it under his desk, taking off his winter coat and hanging it over the back of his chair. He sat down and turned his terminal on, smoothing his hands through his hair.

 

"What happened to you?" Hank asked with concern.

 

"A pipe has been leaking in my upstairs neighbor's apartment for several months, and my building is now infested with black mold."

 

"Jesus, that's not shit to fuck around with, how bad's the damage?"

 

"They're removing the drywall to the studs, and they have to replace the flooring. In addition to the mold, the water damage is considerable. I have to find accommodations in the interim," Connor answered. Hank didn't think he'd ever seen him look so worn down before.

 

"You can stay with me," Hank said, looking as surprised as Connor was that he'd offered.

 

"I couldn't possibly intrude-"

 

"Intrude on what, exactly? I got a spare bedroom, I know you're no trouble. Besides, it's better than living out of a cheap hotel or an Airbnb, and at this point Sumo likes you better than me, the traitor."

 

"...Hank, that's really generous of you to offer-"

 

"Then accept it. We're partners, remember?"

 

That warm feeling he had been getting used to over the last few months fluttered in Connor's stomach. "...Thanks Hank. I will."

 

Gavin Reed slammed the tablet he was working on down on his desk, knocking a stack of files and a cup of pens to the floor before storming off toward the back of the precinct, startling detective Chen.

 

"What crawled up his ass this morning?" she grumbled, turning back to her casework.

 

\---

 

 

Hank had been on the way back from the restroom when Reed steered him into an empty interview room.

"What the fuck are you  _doing_ , Anderson?"

 

Hank squinted at him. "The fuck you talking about, Reed."

 

"I'm talking about you letting him into your fucking HOUSE, Anderson! When you know, you  _know_  there's something going on with him!"

 

"Jesus Christ Reed, his apartment flooded! He just needs a place to stay for a couple weeks, he's not gonna murder me in my sleep."

 

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me. How is it that you can give all the benefit of the doubt to HIM-" Reed pointed emphatically in the direction of the bullpen, "but we work together over a DECADE and you still treat me like the shit you scraped off your shoe."

 

Hank jabbed his finger into Reed's chest. "You need to let this go, Reed," he said, voice dropping an octave in warning.

 

"God, I was  _fine_  with everyone else in the precinct being on that dipshit's dick, but  _you?_  You've seen his files, you fucking  _know_  better, Anderson," Reed sneered into his face.

 

Hank grabbed him by the collar, "Not. Another. Fucking. Word."

 

Reed slammed his fist into the wall next to Hank's head, chipping off the loose drywall.

 

"Hey! What the hell are you two doing?!" Detective Collins said, throwing open the door. "Gavin, you know you can't afford another warning. And Lieutenant! You're his superior officer, act like one!"

 

Detective Reed pushed Hank away from him, dusting off the front of his shirt. "When this shit gets fucked sideways because of him, don't say I didn't warn you, Hank." He turned around, shoulder checking detective Collins on his way out the door.

 

\---

RK800 stepped into North's impeccably tidy office, stopping in front of her desk.

 

She looked up from her work briefly, before looking back down again, signing off on some architectural plans for the next Jericho tower and putting them aside. "RK800," she said. "Markus mentioned you might drop in after spending some time with Simon. Please, sit," she gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

 

RK800 sat.

 

"Have you been enjoying New York so far?"

 

"Considerably less than California."

 

She laughed. "Did you enjoy California?"

 

"Not particularly, no," he said with a frown.

 

She considered him for a moment. "Alright," she said, holding out her hand, the skin dissipating to mid forearm. "Let's get this over with."

 

\---

 

Officer Jeffrey Fowler met Hank at the door to a second story apartment in Herman Gardens, looking grim. The street already had two squad cars parked on the curb, lights flashing, when Hank arrived.

 

"What happened Jeff, why'd you call me in?" Officer Anderson asked.

 

"Domestic dispute. The boyfriend was high off his ass on Ice, it escalated, there's two bodies in there."

 

"Do you need me to close off the street or something?" he asked, " I already saw Okafor and Adeyemi on the stairs, I don't know what you think I can do."

 

Fowler shook his head. "There's a kid."

 

Hank took off his hat, exhaling heavily, rubbing aggressively at his forehead. "Jesus. God."

 

"No, Hank, the kid's alive. I guess the victim would foster kids every once in a while. I need someone to take care of him until we can get this sorted out."

 

Hank nodded solemnly and Fowler lead him into the apartment. There were two other DPD officers cleaning up in the living room, the flickering blue light from the television illuminated the broken furniture, stretching long, eerie shadows onto the wall. They walked through the bedroom and into the attached bath, a riot of old pink tiles that were cracked in places, the tub faucet leaking with a steady drip, drip, that had stained a ring of rust around the drain underneath it.

 

Sitting on the toilet seat was a gangly little boy, maybe four or five, leaning over his knees, staring at the linoleum. Hank crouched down in front of him.

 

"Hey," Hank said gently, "Hey little guy, you think you can get up? My name's Officer Hank and I'm here to help, okay?"

 

The little boy made eye contact, and with a small nod he reached forward, wrapping his arms around Hank's neck as Hank picked him up, carrying him into the bedroom. "Okay, easy, I've got you. We're gonna walk through the house, is that okay? But I need you to close your eyes, alright? Don't open 'em again until we're outside." The boy buried his face into Hank's uniform shirt, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Hank walked through the living room and met Fowler at the door.

 

"I got the address from Okafor, you can drop him off at the agency tonight-" The boy's arms tightened around Hank's neck.

 

"No fucking way, Fowler," Hank muttered. "I'm not just dumping him off at some agency, he's fucking traumatized. I'm taking him to the station. Patrice does a lot of volunteer work placing fosters and finding adoptive families, and I trust her over the fucks at Faith & Family. I think she said the Acevedo's might be looking to adopt another kid-"

 

"Doesn't Florita already have like 5 girls?"

 

Hank shrugged. "What's one more, right?"

 

Fowler frowned "This isn't strictly protocol, Anderson-"

 

"I'll take it from here, Fowler," Hank said, brooking no room for argument as he walked down the stairs to his cruiser. He borrowed the booster seat Adeyemi kept in his trunk for his youngest, buckling the kid into the backseat of the squad car.

 

"Hey kiddo, you heard most of that, right?"

 

The boy nodded. It was chilly, so Hank picked up his DPD zip up from the passenger seat, settling it over the little guy, who dug his arms into the sleeves.

 

Hank put a hand on his knee. "We're gonna get you some McDonalds and go to the station, okay? Let me know if you need to pull over for anything. I'm gonna make sure you're okay, okay? What's your name buddy?"

 

"...Gavin," the boy said, digging his face into Hank's jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to Zillow, who is emailing me real estate listings in detroit because it thinks i am moving there
> 
> welcome to the DBH but aliens AU, i'm sorry i'm like this.
> 
> also thank y'all very very very much for kudos and comments! the comments! you perfect angelfish.
> 
> the DPD is just like brooklyn99 if everyone was either rosa or the vulture. oh god, is connor boyle? connor's boyle, isn't he.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North has enough, RK800 discovers some stuff, Hank & Connor domestic fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW For non consensual telepathy

Hank and Connor stared at each other silently from across the living room.

"I knew that he knew," RK900 said, unmoving, in a monotone that still somehow managed to be smug.

"Hank, I don't know what you're talking about," Connor said, kicking behind him at RK900.

"RK8- pardon,  _Connor_  is ill suited to subterfuge." RK900 droned.

"Hey!"

"I mean, he's not...  _wrong_ ," Hank said, hanging up his coat and approaching the couch. "Connor, I love you, but I would never recommend you for undercover work, you just have a face like a narc."

For less than a second, RK900's lips twitched up at the corners.

 

\---

 

Hank pulled into the driveway of 115 Michigan Drive and put his car in park, pulling out the key and slipping it into his coat pocket. He stepped out of the driver's side, breath visible in the early December chill, and opened the backseat, picking up Connor's suitcase, which was heavier than expected, and wheeling it toward the front door.

 

"Hank, you don't have to-"

 

"I don't mind, Connor." Hank opened the front door to Sumo sitting patiently on the mat, who barked once in excitement upon seeing Connor, bypassing Hank entirely as he wheeled Connor's suitcase in front of the couch.

 

"See what I mean? He likes you better," Hank said, trying to hide his fondness with an exterior of gruff annoyance.

 

Connor looked up at Hank from where he was kneeling with both arms around Sumo, giving the St. Bernard big all over pets. "He's just excited because I'm new. He'll get used to me."

 

Hank gave him a warm, indecipherable look. "Yeah, I guess he will."

 

Connor felt a pulse of that fluttering sensation again.

 

Hank coughed. "Anyway. Figured we'd drop your suitcase before we go get the rest of your stuff."

 

"I'm sorry, the rest of my stuff?" Connor asked, confused.

 

"Yeah, from your apartment or storage or whatever."

 

Connor stood. "I don't have anything else, Hank."

 

"...What do you mean?"

 

Connor pointed. "All of my belongings are in that case. My apartment was fully furnished, I use public transportation, and I disposed of anything I owned that had been exposed to the mold this morning, as well as the food in my refrigerator, just in case."

 

Hank looked at the suitcase, then back to Connor. "So your whole life is just... in this bag."

 

"...I also have several uniforms and changes of clothes I keep in my locker at the precinct, and a number of personal items on my desk."

 

Hank frowned. "I gave you most of those."

 

Connor smiled. "I treasure each one I've received. Tina gave me a pilea peperomioides, and Chris got me a hematite sample from his family trip to Colorado."

 

"...Huh," Hank said, squinting at him. "Well, I guess, uh, let me take your stuff to the guest room." He rolled the suitcase to the closed door before pausing outside it. With a deep breath he turned the knob.

 

Hank and Connor stood together in front of the open guest room door. The full sized bed was stacked high with boxes, some open and some taped shut. There were piles of paperwork on the desk, medical documents, tax records and old mail, and a small stack of children's drawings. There were more drawings and photos pinned to a bulletin board behind the desk, and in the corner was an ancient desktop computer, maybe a decade old. An entire shelf of the bookcase against the wall was haphazardly stacked with plaques, certifications and awards, going back to athletic trophies from Hank's school days. If they had ever been displayed with any sense of pride they were now covered in a fine layer of dust.

 

The room itself was a colorful green, with a wallpaper border depicting dinosaurs along the top of the wall, and plastic glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling, haloing out from the light fixture.

 

Hank twisted his hands around the handle of the suitcase.

 

Connor looked at the bed, before putting a hand on Hank's shoulder. "You know, I think I'm a bit too tall for this bed."

 

"...Yeah?" Hank asked, turning toward him.

 

"I would probably be much more comfortable sleeping on your couch if I'm perfectly honest," Connor said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

 

Hank cleared his throat. "I mean, I can clean in here, it's not a problem, but if you think you'd be better off out there..."

 

Connor rolled his suitcase back out to the living room. "This is more than sufficient, I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

 

Hank stared into the spare room for a few moments, before closing the door again.

 

"You gotta stop saying that, you're a guest. I'm happy to have you here. If I weren't such a fucking slob-"

 

Connor frowned. "Hank," he interrupted in protest.

 

They looked at each other for a moment.

 

Hank breathed out a little sigh, before taking Connor's suitcase back from him and rolling it into the master as Connor trailed behind him, stopping in front of the door closest to his bed. "You know, Nadine had a walk in closet that I don't even use, has a dresser and everything. You could put your stuff here, use it to change, whatever."

 

Connor blinked at him.

 

"Is that... would that be weird?" Hank asked.

 

Connor opened the door, took his suitcase and walked inside, turning on the overhead light before placing the suitcase on a luggage rack and unzipping the sides. "No, why would that be weird?

 

Hank fidgeted at the door looking slightly lost as Connor unpacked his clothes, refolded them and put them away in meticulous order in the large dresser. He picked up some spare flocked hangers, the nicer ones of the assortment hanging near to the door, and began hanging his collared shirts, ties and jackets. He laid out two spare pairs of shoes on the shoe rack and placed two tie pins on the top of the dresser, perfectly in line with one another. He was finished in short order. There was only one thing left in his suitcase.

 

"Man you must really like Gatorade," Hank muttered.

 

Connor smiled. "We all have our vices, Hank. Do you have space in the refrigerator?" 

 

Hank carried one of the cases of Gatorade to the fridge. Connor opened it with an exasperated huff. Empty food storage containers from the leftovers Connor had graciously given to Hank after Thanksgiving sat empty in the fridge, near a smattering of condiments, an open box of baking soda, and little else. Connor took out the containers and put them next to the sink, stacked high with dishes, before getting a new sponge from under the sink and soaping it up. 

 

"You don't have to do that," Hank said, "I should-"

 

Connor looked up from where he was scrubbing the shelves of the fridge. "The sooner I finish this, the sooner I can store my drinks and have you take us grocery shopping."

 

Hank definitely didn't trust the look in Connor's eye at the prospect. 

 

\---

 

RK800's palm hovered over North's, and their hands pulsed blue, establishing a connection. RK800 blinked, and upon opening his eyes, he was immersed in North's inner landscape. 

 

Synchronization was a meeting, entity to entity; an invitation to peer at the fundamental core of oneself and expose parts of it to your linked partner.

 

North's landscape was jagged in its severity. This place wasn't truly a place, not really, but almost a metaphysical manifestation of personality, thought, will and emotion. RK800 experienced North in the way one experiences water after being submerged for too long; dark, surrounded on all sides, drowning.

 

He could feel North in his own landscape, picking him apart with a terrifying efficiency, prying beyond his surface thoughts and the memories and observations he'd offered for her to read and into the things he had specifically chosen not to share. He recoiled, and attempted to sever the connection and pull his hand away.

 

North grabbed his hand, forcefully lacing their fingers together and trapping his hand under hers on the desk, as RK800 struggled in her grip. His sense of horror radiated from him like watching thin ice crack on the surface of a pond, cold, deafening and inevitable. She moved faster now, the connection between them strong enough to give her access to all of him, which she vivisected with a methodical accuracy and laid out in front of herself to examine.

 

It felt like minutes, hours, years, but when North abruptly dropped his hand he fell backward over his chair and onto the floor, clutching his hand to his chest. He panted like a wild thing, panicked and stricken, before sucking in a breath and coming back to himself. "How could you?" he whispered, nerves buzzing angrily and thoughts tangled, stunned at the violation of his trust.

 

North, standing, looked at him from over her the top of her desk. "Markus sent you to Simon first to give you another chance. I don't believe in second chances. I suppose that's what made me so effective, before."

 

"Another chance at what?" RK800 asked from the ground, too shaken to move.

 

"Markus thinks you could be useful, thinks you could be a part of Jericho, but more than that he has a soft spot for you, RK800. He thinks you're family."

"And what do you think I am? A threat? That's what you do, isn't it, you neutralize threats?"

North pursed her lips, looking at him coldly. "That's the thing, RK800. I don't see you as a threat. I see you for what you are. A coward."

RK800 stood slowly, gaze flickering toward the door, still clutching at his hand.

"There it is, right where I expected to find it, living in the soul of you. How this would be so much easier if you could put back all the things you saw in Markus and never think of them again. How much more comfortable you would be. You could be off this podunk little planet and back under the thumb of AMNDA in no time at all."

North circled the around the desk, advancing on his position. RK800 backed up a few steps toward the elevator.

"That's the dangerous thing about cowards, RK800. They're unpredictable. And wherever you go, RK900 is sure to be a few steps behind you."

 

"What do you mean to do, North?"

 

She stared at him for a moment, all calculation and tightly coiled violence. RK800 knew in a purely physical matchup she would overpower him. He looked around the room, frantic, for anything that would help him.

 

She leaned back against her desk. RK800 could feel the tension in his body relax just a fraction. "I will do what I've always done. I will assist Markus, in whatever capacity that entails, by any means necessary."

 

RK800 took another step backward. She crossed her arms.

 

"Make no mistake, it's my soft spot for Markus that's keeping you alive right now, RK800. I'm frankly itching to take care of this loose end. You can go," she gestured to the elevators with her chin.

 

RK800 backed the rest of the way out of the room, unwilling to give North access to his exposed back.

 

She moved behind her desk. "Josh will be back in Detroit by Wednesday. I would recommend you seek out his guidance before making any... life altering decisions."

 

RK800 hit the elevator doors, hand scrabbling along the panel and hammering the down button.

 

"And RK800? I hope the next time we meet it's under better circumstances." She smiled fractionally. "But if not, you know that I will not hesitate."

 

As the elevator doors slid closed in front of RK800, he watched as North seated herself back at her desk, resuming her work.

 

\---

 

Hank pulled into the parking lot of the Honeybee and Connor got out of the car, folding and organizing the reusable bags he'd found under Hank's kitchen sink before they'd left. Hank grabbed a cart while Connor picked through tidily stacked piles of winter squash at the entrance of the super mercado. He dropped a few acorn, butternut and spaghetti squash into their basket on the way in. As they walked through the automatic double doors, Hank could hear indistinct Christmas music that had pervaded every shopping experience since November 1st playing over the tinny speakers. 

 

Connor spent more time in the produce aisle than Hank ever did, picking out vegetables, fruit, a pile of avocados and limes, and after scrutinizing them briefly, things like jicama and chayotes that Hank honestly didn't even know what to do with. Near the deli counter Connor picked out a stack of freshly made corn tortillas, still warm, and added them to their cart.

 

Connor filled plastic bags with dried garbanzo beans, nuts and peas from the sundries by weight section, and then they headed to canned goods, Connor checking the labels for added ingredients before dropping tinned tomatoes, jackfruit, vegetable broth, corn, tofu, seitan, tempeh, nutritional yeast, tahini, temari, and steel cut oats into the rapidly filling basket. 

 

Connor stopped abruptly and turned around in the middle of the cereal aisle. Hank, following him a little too closely, bumped into him, and Connor took his shoulders to steady him. "Sorry Hank."  

 

Hank smiled a little."You getting everything you need?"

 

"I still need a few specialty ingredients but yes, this is more than adequate. ...Were you going to buy anything?"

 

Hank shrugged. "I figured I'd let you take the lead on this," he scratched his beard. "I don't want to make it hard for you to use the kitchen and then go and do something stupid to cross contaminate your food."

 

"Oh," Connor said softly. "...That's very considerate of you."

 

Hank stuck his hands in his pockets. "Besides, college girlfriend was vegan, it's not like I'm one of those obnoxious carnivore types. Just takes more time than I'm used to putting in. Easier for me to grab something while I'm out, most days."

 

Connor peered into the shopping cart before giving Hank a once over. "...I'm going to need to get more of everything, then."

 

Hank laughed, following him out of the aisle and back to produce.

 

\---

 

RK800 sat on a bench in Grand Circus Park, in view of the dog park. He watched, amused, as a Bergamasco Shepherd and a Bull Terrier tussled over a frisbee, the terrier getting caught in the shepherd's mop of hair. It was April in Detroit, and one of those few beautiful days between Detroit's notoriously long winters and miserably hot summers. RK800 closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sun as a man took the seat next to him.

 

"RK800, hey."

 

"Good morning Josh," RK800 said, keeping his eyes closed. "Are you having a pleasant day?"

 

He heard Josh shift next to him, and cracked open an eye. "Good. Busy." He waved a hand. "You know what Markus is like."

 

RK800 turned toward him on the bench. He was dressed more casually than Markus, Simon, or North, but Josh had a reputation for being steady and comforting, so he supposed it was part of his whole aesthetic. After his experience with North, it made him uneasy. "How was Shanghai?"

 

Josh grimaced. "Messy. We have to be so careful how we get our components, and their contractors' subcontractors hire subcontractors, so hunting down who makes what to make sure everything is up to standard is a struggle. It's an interesting place and I met some wonderful people though. Amazing food."

 

RK800 nodded, looking down at his hands.

 

Josh sighed. "...Listen. Markus told me about North."

 

RK800 flinched.

 

"It's been a while since I've seen them fight like that, Markus was really angry. North is... probably rightfully paranoid but she had no right to do what she did, and for that I'm really sorry. Markus is sorry. ...I wish I could say North feels remorse but..."

 

RK800 swallowed. "...Then you know."

 

Josh's mouth twisted into a small frown. "North isn't like you or Markus, RK800. Nuance is... harder for her. She's so used to taking things apart, it's taken a while for her to figure out how to build things."

 

"She's not wrong, though. I'm... afraid. I don't know if I've ever been afraid. I miss how simple everything was before I took this assignment. And this configuration is so confusing and contradictory and... gross, sometimes."

 

Josh held out his hand. "Want me to take a look, see if I can help settle your thoughts? No pressure."

 

RK800 looked at his outstretched hand, and then at his face. He steeled himself, before tentatively letting his hand hover over Josh's.

 

Josh was like being surrounded in the relief of a perfect breeze on a hot day. RK800 offered his thoughts and conflicted feelings, opening himself up more than he had with Simon or even Markus, and discovered that Josh was an open book, asking to be read. Josh had his own fears and reservations about being here, but the pillar of faith he had in Markus was unshakable.

 

What's more, Josh had so many beautiful feelings and experiences.

 

RK800 felt the way the brilliant red lanterns of the Yufo Si temple swayed in the warm night air, and the delicious smells from vendors lining the busy streets in Shanghai. He felt how beautiful it was eating a peach picked fresh off a tree, of the deep, ancient way a coniferous forest smelled and the sound pine needles made underfoot. He felt the way a joke could light up a man's features and cause involuntary bouts of laughter, how the sound of street musicians reverberated in a cavernous subway, the grateful look a pregnant woman gave him as he helped her carry her stroller up four flights of stairs. A hundred thousand interactions and observations, catalogued and stored with the utmost care, to be taken out and admired from all sides at any given moment.

 

When RK800 pulled away, his eyes were wet. "Is that what it's like for you, every day?"

 

"Every day," Josh said, smiling at him gently.

 

RK800 made a frustrated noise. "I've tried-"

 

"I saw."

 

"...Do you think it will ever happen for me?"

 

Josh gestured to the two dogs he had been watching before, now rolling together in the grass. "I think you're a lot closer than you think you are, RK800."

 

"Connor," RK800 said, a strange certainty coming over him in a wave of calm.

 

Josh looked at him, surprised and a little pleased. "Connor, then."

 

"It means lover of hounds," Connor said, with the slightest hint of a smile.

 

\---

 

Hank pushed open the front door, arms full of groceries, before setting them down in the kitchen. Connor, close behind, followed him and did the same. It took two additional trips to the car before they managed to bring everything in, and Hank looked visibly exhausted.

 

"I could probably manage a stir fry," Connor said, picking up the mail from where it was jammed in the slot and handing it to Hank. "If you can stay awake long enough for it."

 

"Yeah, I think I have a rice cooker somewhere here, makes things easier," he replied absently, flipping through the mail. 

 

Hank opened the documentation from his yearly physical, muttering to himself. "God damn doctor keeps fucking up my labs," he grunted. "She wants me in again, this is the second time they've misplaced my results."

 

"Oh?" Connor asked, patting Sumo's head.

 

"Yeah, blood work keeps coming back like I'm in my twenties or something. Must be another Hank Anderson out there. Low cholesterol, low BP, must be nice to be that guy."

 

Hank set aside the rest of the mail for a large Christmas card with a gold seal, tearing it open. He read it briefly, half smiling, and set it on the side table, knocking it off with a sweep of his coat as he walked into the kitchen to find a place for everything they'd bought.

 

Connor picked up the card from the floor and saw the contents that had fallen out. A photo of Cole by himself, in a costume for his school production of Grease, a Christmas photo with Cole and whom Connor could only assume was Nadine and her new husband in matching hideous sweaters, and a flight voucher.

 

Hank poked his head out of the kitchen. "Hey Con, do you know if these chayote things need to go in the fridge or not? Oh, hey, give me that," he walked back into the living room, taking the photos and putting them on the counter before sticking the card to the fridge with an old  _Shrimp Heaven Now_  magnet.

 

"Are you planning on visiting California over the holidays?"

 

Hank continued shoving lemons and limes in the crisper drawer. "No, why?"

 

"The flight voucher, I just assumed-"

 

Hank hunched back into the fridge, looking defensive. "Dina does that to me every year, invites me out to spend Christmas with them."

 

"If you need someone to watch Sumo-"

 

Hank stood up, closing the refrigerator door firmly. "I don't  _go_ , Connor."

 

Connor frowned. "It seems like they want you there, I don't understand-"

 

Hank sighed in a huff. "It's a nice gesture on her part but I don't... I don't want to mess up Cole's holiday. They've got a whole life out there, and Dina doesn't need me crashing on her couch and making things awkward with her family and her new in-laws." Connor looked pointedly at the couch and then back at Hank, and Hank blushed slightly, clearing his throat and looking away. "It's better if I'm not... the precinct needs me, anyway."

 

"You have a considerable amount of PTO rolled over from the past few years, if you wanted to work something out. Chris and Detective Collins owe you for covering their Thanksgiving shifts."

 

Hank clenched his fists for a moment, and Connor tensed for an outburst, before Hank read Connor's body language and reined himself in. "Every couple years I go out to see Cole on his birthday in September. Even if I did go it's just... uncomfortable being the odd man out. I don't want to be a burden to them, Connor, just. Drop it, okay?"

 

Connor nodded, grabbing a cutting board and a knife from the block on the counter. "You said you had a rice cooker?"

 

"Yeah," Hank said, opening the infrequently used cabinets under the microwave and digging through some old appliances. "Give me a minute."

 

\---

 

Officer Chen was sitting on Connor's desk, playing with the Rubik's Cube Hank had given him, before she paused to stare at him. "You did what, Bambi?"

 

Connor waved his hands. "Please keep your voice down, detective Chen," he murmured. "As a holiday gift. To the Lieutenant. I've booked flights to San Francisco for the week after New Years to visit his son and requested PTO on his behalf, and my friend Simon has graciously offered to let us stay with him. It's a surprise."

 

"Does Nadine know about this?"

 

"Of course. I sent her an email, she's been very helpful."

 

Tina's eyes widened. "Ooooh Bambi, he's gonna murder you."

 

Connor looked crestfallen.

 

"Don't get me wrong, it's a very sweet, very personally invasive gesture, but you have to know he's not gonna react super hot to your... meddling? Is meddling the word I'm looking for?" She pointed at him, "You're a meddler, Bambi."

 

Connor frowned. "I talked it over with Fowler and he was... surprisingly supportive. Hank hasn't taken a vacation in several years."

 

Tina waved her hand. "The Captain's probably supportive because Hank's only missed a day since you two got partnered up, and uh," she lowered her voice a little more, "he hasn't exactly been a regular at Jimmy's since about July. Don't get me wrong Bambi, you've been really good for the Lieutenant. This is just... a little much."

 

"When we initially talked about it, Hank expressed reluctance because he would be imposing upon his ex-wife and her husband, and that he'd be isolated. I thought perhaps he'd be more amenable to the idea if he weren't staying with them and had someone outside the situation to rely on if he became uncomfortable."

 

"Bambi, I'm not saying you aren't being considerate, but look at it from this perspective. The Lieutenant's only known you since April. You've only been... friendly since what, September? He's very protective of Cole. I don't know if... if he'd be okay with you meeting him."

 

Connor nodded. "I prepared for that contingency in advance by asking to stay with Simon. If the Lieutenant would like to set specific boundaries I am willing to acquiesce to his requests."

 

Tina raised an eyebrow. "You're really dead set on this, huh?"

 

"The flights are non refundable."

 

She sighed deeply. "Of course they are," she sat up, ruffling his hair. "Just tread lightly when you spring this on him, okay? He's thinks he's real tough but he's a total marshmallow on the inside."

 

Connor smiled softly. "I am aware."

 

\---

 

Connor was reading through case notes on his tablet, huddled under the quilt on Hank's couch, when Hank sat down next to him. Sumo immediately walked over and claimed the corner spot, shoving Hank closer to Conner, and Connor simply shifted to tuck his cold feet under Hank's leg, not looking up from his work.

 

It was already December 23rd. Their caseload had slowed from the summer months, but there were cold cases to look through, and there was always a particularly sad spike for homicide during the holidays. Winter in Detroit was difficult for everyone.

 

Hank sighed, cracking a beer and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

 

Hank didn't seem like a particularly festive person, but Connor noted that he had hung a single strand of colorful lights on the outside of his house along the edge of the roof, and a small decorative Christmas tree had appeared shortly after he'd moved in. Connor had little context for either addition to their household, but greatly appreciated the effort Hank was putting in to make him feel at home. "Something wrong, Hank?"

 

Hank fidgeted, putting his beer back on the table. "Doesn't really feel like Christmas when we're working until the 27th, huh?"

 

Connor looked up. "I don't mind. I've never been particularly invested in Christmas."

 

Hank gave Connor a soft look before picking up his beer and taking another swig. "I used to be. Big tree, over the top decorations, Dina and I would spend a week making cookies from my mom's recipes. The neighbors are real competitive about their yard displays, so it was always a real treat for Cole."

 

Hank cleared his throat, reaching under the sofa. "Anyway," he said, pulling out a stack of packages and dropping them in Connor's lap. "I figured I could do this now since we'll be busy the next couple days."

 

Connor looked at the pile of gifts, and then back up at Hank. "Are all of these for me?"

 

Hank reddened slightly, shrugging. "Yeah. Go on."

 

Connor carefully unwrapped each gift, making sure not to damage the wrapping paper, before folding it and placing it off to the side. There was a beautifully designed vegan cookbook, a mineral identification field guide and an illustrated plant encyclopedia, a small set of gardening tools and a kit for a hydroponic herb garden, as well as a tasteful set of warm gloves, a scarf and a hat. Inside a long flat box, there was a truly hideous fair isle sweater with a St. Bernard's face in the center surrounded by a wreath, and underneath that was a DPD sweatshirt. Connor looked up at Hank in quiet awe.

 

Hank gestured to the sweatshirt. "So you stop stealing mine," he said, trying and failing to come off as annoyed. "And uh, here, this too." Hank handed him a small envelope.

 

Inside was a voucher for several months of vegan delivery meal kits. Hank scratched at his nose, avoiding eye contact. "Figured we could try out some new recipes together. I should pull my own weight in the kitchen more often."

 

"Hank... I... I love all of this. Thank you. I... hold on," Connor said, setting his gifts on the table and walking into Hank's bedroom. He returned with an envelope of his own and handed it to him.

 

"Hank. Before you open this just know that it may require further explanation, so don't um... don't freak out until I've had the chance to explain."

 

"Uhh, that's not a concerning thing to say or anything," he replied, tearing open the top of the envelope. He stared at the plane tickets in disbelief before reading the card. He looked at the tickets again, squinted, and re-read what Connor had written.

 

Hank stood up, visibly upset. "You want to explain yourself, Connor?" he asked, waving the tickets in front of him.

 

Connor tensed, nervous. "I know you said to drop the matter, I'm sorry I didn't listen. I just thought... it's after the Christmas and New Years holidays when Cole is still off from school but Nadine's family will have returned home, and you don't have to stay with her, so you won't feel like an imposition."

 

Hank looked like he wanted to yell.

 

Connor held up his hands in defense. "You don't have to, I'm sorry, this was a stupid idea. I just thought it might make you happy."

 

Hank sucked in a breath, clenching his jaw and jabbing Connor in the chest with his index finger, twice, before pulling him into a crushing hug. 

 

"Hank...?" Connor said, rigid.

 

Hank squeezed him a little tighter. "You're a persistent little shit, Connor," he murmured into the shoulder of  the sweatshirt that Connor was wearing, his own sweatshirt. "I want to be mad at you but this is honestly one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me."

 

Connor tentatively put his arms around Hank, and they held each other for a moment. Hank pulled away, meeting Connor's big brown eyes. Hank's gaze flickered down to his mouth for a split second, and he moved fractionally closer to Connor, who tilted his head up.

 

Sumo barked, shoving his head in between them, wagging his tail. Hank pulled away, kneeling to pet his dog. "Hey buddy, you feeling left out?"

 

The nice fluttering sensation that Connor had been getting used to apparently had a higher, slightly more unbearable setting.

 

"Uh, anyway, how'd you manage to get this past Fowler? The squad's gonna be pissed at having to cover for both of us after New Years. People shooting guns into the air and setting off illegal fireworks, it's a total shitshow."

 

Connor cleared his throat. "The Captain. Um. The Captain was supportive of the idea when I ran it by him."

 

Hank patted Sumo on the side a few more times standing back up. "Guess I better dig out my suitcase."

 

"Don't forget your swim trunks."

 

Hank looked confused.

 

"Simon has a pool," Connor said with a small, self satisfied smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been trying to get to the scenes i wrote this for & i really thought i was going to hit at least one in this chapter but instead please enjoy these two doofuses dancing around each other some more


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beach episode. Well, there's a pool.

 

"Hypothetically, Hank. What do you...  _think_  you know?" Connor asked, crossing his arms.

 

Hank was having none of that. He pushed the coffee table away from the couch with his leg, nudging a still semi catatonic RK, and gently took Connor's hand, trying to mitigate his obvious distress. Hank sat down on the couch, bringing Connor in to sit next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tucking him into his side.

 

"I think you've been hiding something pretty major from me since the day we met, and that you've lied about a lot of other little stuff since then to protect that secret, which I'm not thrilled about. But I also think you have... really, really solid reasons to do that. So I'm not... mad, or anything. Trusting you continues to be the best decision I've ever made, and I'm going to continue making that decision pretty much as long as you'll have me. And frankly if there's some shit you're not willing to share with me, I respect your privacy."

 

Connor stared at him in disbelief. "If you...  _know_ , I don't think you fully  _grasp_  the situation, which makes me think maybe you're misunderstanding..."

 

"Connor, do you need me to use the "A" word, will that make this clearer for you?"

 

Connor paled. "...You are fond of a number of "A" words, Hank, perhaps further clarification-"

 

Hank rolled his eyes. "Okay, how about the ET word? UFOs? Area 51? Roswell? The- the Fifth Element, Leeloo Dallas Multipass,  _fuck_ Connor, it's  _fine."_

 

Connor made a sound that was close in approximation to a punctured balloon.

 

"You know, honestly, it's not that different from being from Florida," Hank said with a lopsided grin.

 

\---

 

Connor set the rental car's GPS to the address Hank had given him, and began the drive from the airport. Hank had been distracted the entire trip, from the taxi to DTW to the car rental pickup at SFO. He'd insisted Connor have the window seat on the plane, which did nothing for Hank's overall anxiousness, and his discomfort in the center seat was only mitigated when Connor pushed up his arm rest, giving him more room, their legs flush together. He'd contemplated ordering a drink, but with Connor in such close proximity and the humiliating memory of the last time he drank himself stupid in the forefront of his mind, he settled on ginger ale. The drive ended up being relatively uneventful, but Connor had been fussing over Hank's subdued demeanor since they'd woken up that morning.

 

A beautiful woman in her late fourties, with dark, silver streaked curls spilling over her shoulders and big honey colored eyes opened the door to a picturesque house in Loyola.

 

"As I live and breathe, Lieutenant Hank Anderson," Nadine said with a hand on her hip, face slowly splitting into a grin. "About damn time you showed your face around here," she said, pulling him in for a tight, familiar embrace. For all Hank was tense and distracted on the ride over, he visibly relaxed into her arms.

 

Connor felt an indistinct twinge he didn't care to identify.

 

"Hey Dina," Hank said with a gruff softness, his chin fitting into the crook of her shoulder. "Been a while, huh?"

 

She pulled away from him, kissing him on the cheek before holding him back by the shoulders and squinting into his face. "You look... you look  _good_ , Hank. I'm so glad you decided to come out."

 

Hank rolled his eyes. "Decided is a real funny way of saying  _was conspired against,_ " Hank groused.

 

Nadine poked her head out from around Hank's large frame, smiling at Connor. "Speaking of which, is this my co-conspirator?"

 

Hank sprang out of the way. "Uh, yeah, this is my Connor- uh, my new partner, Connor. Connor, this is Nadine. I don't know why I'm introducing either of you since you  _know_  each other," he said, scratching at his neck.

 

Nadine stuck out a hand for Connor to shake. "Well Hank, if you were more forthcoming with Sumo pics maybe I wouldn't have had to come up with a texting workaround."

 

"You two  _text?_ "

 

Connor reddened slightly. "We have mutual shared interests," he said, shaking Nadine's hand. "It's lovely to meet you in person Mrs. Ladipo."

 

"Mrs. Ladipo? Please, Connor, the father of my son is in California, you've more than earned Nadine." She elbowed Hank. "We namely text photos of the large furry child I lost in the divorce and talk shit about you, Hank."

 

Hank looked momentarily horrified. Nadine smiled even wider. "Anyway, Cole's in the backyard with Tiwa, he pretty much hasn't stopped talking about how his  _dad_  is coming from  _Detroit_  since we told him, we're setting up lunch on the patio, come on," she said, tugging Hank along by the sleeve.

 

Connor tapped Hank's shoulder. "Hank, I'll be going back to Simon's now, so whenever you're ready to go just give me a-"

 

Nadine looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "You think I'm just going to let you leave when you have a whole wealth of insider info on Mr. Anderson over here, Connor? You're not going anywhere," she said, taking his arm and steering him into the foyer.

 

Connor gave Hank a helpless look over Nadine's head, but Hank just waved back, mouthing _"it's fine"_  at him. Hank made his way through the house with familiarity, walking through the kitchen and pausing for a deep breath at the double doors out to the patio, before opening them and stepping outside.

 

Nadine squeezed Connor's arm.  _"Thank you,_  Connor," she whispered quietly. "I can't tell you how much this means to Cole. And to me. ...And to Tiwa, he and Hank are surprisingly tight," she said with a smile.

 

 

\---

Hank stepped off the patio and onto the lawn, where Cole and Tiwa were playing soccer. When Cole saw Hank, his whole body lit up, and he ran across the lawn to tackle Hank's legs with enough force to send him stumbling backwards, just a little.

"DAD!!" Cole hollered, burrowing into Hank's side.

Hank bent over, hair falling in loose strands over his face as he pulled Cole into a hug, arms engulfing his small shoulders. "Hey bud," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Cole hugged him a little tighter, and they stayed together like that for a minute. Cole finally let go, and Hank looked him over. "Looks like you've got a couple more inches on you," Hank said, ruffling his hair.

Cole swatted at his hand laughing as Tiwa walked over. He wasn't quite as tall as Hank, but he was definitely built like a physical therapist living and working in San Francisco. "Anderson," he said with a short nod.

"Ladipo," Hank returned curtly, with a nod of his own, before standing up to his full height.

Tiwa laughed, grabbing Hank by the forearm and pulling him in for a half-handshake-half-hug. "C'mere you huge nerd, what kept you away so long this time, huh?"

Hank laughed, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately, "Dina's told you what the precinct is like, I'm lucky if I know what day of the week it is." Hank reached a hand out to Cole, and he took it, swinging off his arm on the way back up the patio steps. "Much rather be here though."

Dina walked out of the house with the last of the covered bowls, having roped Connor into helping her set the table while Hank and Cole had some time to themselves. "Lunch everybody! Hank, I made my mother's warak arish," she said, waggling her eyebrows. She turned to Connor, sliding a dish toward him. "And these ones are veggie, for you. Don't think I missed that detail."

Connor gave her a small smile, pulling the dish toward him as he sat down.

"Hey Tiwa," Hank said, mouth partially full of stuffed grape leaves. "Does Mrs. Bechara still hate you?" he asked with a shit eating grin.

"About as much as she hates you, Hank, get that smug ass look off your face."

Hank smiled wider. "I'm just glad there are some things that never change," he said with a contented sigh. He sat at the table, and Cole pulled his chair as close to Hank's as it would go. "Hey Dad, who's this?" Cole asked, eyeing Connor with a guarded curiosity.

Hank coughed a little, hitting himself in the chest and clearing his throat. "Right, sorry. Cole, this is Connor. He's my partner at work."

Cole looked Connor over, squinting his eyes in an evaluating way that reminded Connor of a miniature version of Hank. It was very endearing.

"It's very nice to meet you, Cole," Connor said, giving him a nod. Cole nodded back, suddenly shy, and picked up his fork, looking like he hadn't quite made up his mind about Connor.

Cole nudged Hank's leg with his knee. "Dad, thanks for the Christmas present," he said, digging into his fruit salad and mostly ignoring the skewers of kofta and fattoush his mother had portioned out on his plate.

Nadine laughed, "I told you he was running around the house all morning last week, waving the admissions packet around." She raised her eyebrows at Hank. "It was a little excessive, even for you, Hank."

"Admissions packet?" Connor asked, trying to keep up with the conversation.

"It's a pretty selective performing arts summer camp Cole's been dying to go to," Tiwa explained, sliding his kabob off the wooden skewers with the tines of his fork. "Hank already covers half of Cole's tuition-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Hank said, putting his hand on Cole's mop of sandy blonde hair. "He said he wanted to go more than  _anything,_ and I've only gotten to see one of his plays in person."

Cole frowned. "And it doesn't even count because it was  _fifth grade_  and I didn't even get a speaking part."

"Come on, you were a  _riveting_  Bystander #2 in  _Little Shop of Horrors,_ bud."

Cole stuck his tongue out. "Don't  _humor_  me  _Dad,"_ he huffed. "You know I wanted to be Audrey 2."

Nadine looked highly amused. "You were robbed, baby, we know. Now please eat your salad."

\---

"So. Connor," Nadine said, as she rinsed off their wine glasses and loaded them in the sink. Late lunch had segued into early dinner, and before long it was Cole's bedtime. Hank and Tiwa were already upstairs, and from the occasional loud thumps and peals of laughter, Tiwa was going through Cole's PT routine and Hank was "helping." 

Connor looked over to her, drying the delicate sangria pitcher and replacing it in the cabinet.

"You and Hank, huh?" she said with a curious raise of her eyebrow.

Connor smiled softly. "We've been together for less than a year, but I couldn't ask for a more skilled, passionate or dedicated partner."

Nadine's eyes went wide as she choked, slamming a hand into her chest. "Uhh..." she said, trying to catch her breath. "You wanna elaborate?" she wheezed, filling a glass of water from the tap and downing it.

"Hank has an impressive record at the DPD, it's been a pleasure to learn from him on the job."

Nadine breathed out with an audible "whoosh," sagging against the sink. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay. So, um,  _partner_  to ex-wife... How is he doing, really?"

Connor considered the question. "He's in good health, and has made a full recovery from the injuries he sustained at the Harbor Terminal, but I don't think that's what you're asking. He's been... not sober, per se, but hasn't been drinking to excess since July with the exception of a depressive episode in October where he overindulged, but I was there to help him through it."

Nadine looked pained, but relieved. "That's... that's good to hear, Connor. ...Sorry about Cole today, he takes a while to warm up to people."

Connor hunched his shoulders a little, looking down. "He seemed personally offended that I've never been to Disney World."

Nadine laughed. "You lived in Florida your whole life,  _I'm_  personally offended you've never been to Disney World. But really, Cole resents anyone who gets to spend more time with his dad than he does, and right now, aside from Sumo, you're pretty much the only person who meets that criteria." She snorted. "Except maybe  _Reed_ , but that prick doesn't count."

Connor frowned. "With Cole here, sometimes I wonder what's keeping Hank in Detroit."

Nadine looked him over. "I mean, I can hazard a guess," she said, mouth twitching up in a little half smile. "But also, even when Hank is  _here_  I can't imagine him here, you know? He's not a California guy, never has been. Awful patterned button ups aside," she said, leaning on the kitchen counter and looking at Connor out of the corner of her eye. "Detroit has always had a hold over him."

The conversation naturally lulled. "...Nadine, I have additional photos of Sumo, would you like to see them?" he asked, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

"Gimme!" Nadine said, grabbing for his phone and swiping through. "Oh my gosh, my good pupper, my pupperoni. Ugh I miss him so much..." she trailed off, as the photos of Sumo slowly turned into photos of Hank-and-Sumo. "Oh my goooosh how are you getting these shots? I can blackmail him forever!" She said, texting them to herself.

"It's easy enough when we're living in such close quarters," Connor said blithely.

Nadine raised her eyebrows again. "You're uh... you didn't mention you two were  _living_  together."

Connor nodded. "My apartment is undergoing renovations and Hank graciously offered me a place to stay for the duration."

"Oh I bet he did," she replied knowingly. "...God, is the guest room still a wreck? How did you get him to grapple that project?"

"Oh I... no, I'm just... he didn't seem... emotionally equipped to handle... I've been, ah, "crashing" on the couch."

Nadine gave him an exasperated look, but Hank and Tiwa were thundering down the stairs, interrupting their conversation.

Hank was all smiles. "Cole's out for the night, think we tired him out."

Tiwa smirked. "Out until we catch him playing Gameboy at midnight, again, anyway."

Nadine threw a dishtowel at Hank, which he caught, slinging it over his shoulder. "You've got poor Connor sleeping on your lumpy old couch when there's a perfectly good room going unused at the house? Help me dry these."

"I really don't mind-" Connor began.

Hank grunted, twisting the dishcloth to dry the bottom of Nadine's stemware. "I know, Dina. The room could use a coat of paint and some new furniture anyway, Cole isn't exactly into dinosaurs anymore." He sighed. "It's just been busy, we both worked Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's Day. And you know it's hard to get me to do anything when I'm off shift. Some days walking Sumo is all I can manage, if that," he shrugged.

Nadine rolled her eyes. "You need to learn to cut back and say no once in a while, Hank."

Hank flicked water at her, hooking the dishtowel over the drying rack. "Talk to me when you take your own advice, Dina."

"I'm not saying anything," Tiwa said in a placating gesture. "But it is late and one of us has depositions to go through tomorrow before she's back to work on Monday."

"Agghhhh," Nadine said, shoving her face into Tiwa's shoulder. "Why you gotta say these things to me, baby." Tiwa wrapped his arms around her, giving her a quick peck. She turned in the circle of his arms, and he rested his chin on her head.

"We'll see you two tomorrow though, right? We can work out what the week looks like with Cole, and I know he's dying to show you his video from Grease. He was an  _adorable_  Kenickie."

"I was thinking one of the days we could take him to the beach," Hank said. 

Nadine made a face. "Hank, the water's like, 50 degrees right now. Plus the sand is such a pain in the ass with his chair and we have to have it, just in case."

"My friend Simon has a pool," Connor offered. "It's where Hank and I will be staying, in any case."

Nadine nodded. "Maybe ask your friend first, and then get back to me on that." She pulled Hank into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight Hank. I'm glad you're here."

Connor felt another twinge. 

Nadine walked over to Connor, pulling him into his own unexpected hug and kiss. He returned the hug stiffly, surprised. "See you soon Connor," she murmured. "And thanks again."

\---

 

Hank stood just inside the gate of Simon's house, staring up at it. "What the fuck is this Connor?"

The gate auto-locked behind them with a soft beep. "This is where my friend Simon lives. He won't be back from his business trip until midweek, so he's giving us the run of the house until then."

"...Connor. That's an infinity pool."

Connor smiled. "It's a rather ingenious salinated pool, which eliminates the need for electrolysis to convert the salt into chlorine, while the saltwater is recycled into the kelp garden on the ground floor. And everything is heated with high efficiency solar."

Hank turned to him. "...So this Simon, your friend Simon, the one that you talk about with the tech job who "supports the arts" and works at the office with the floor pillows. Is  _that_  Simon? The one who was on the cover of  _Forbes_  last year?"

"Do you... not approve, Hank?"

"...Connor, I thought we were gonna be staying on a pull out couch in the Castro with your friend who likes NPR, or something. Not... this," he gestured to the entire house with his arm.

"...Oh." Connor said, rolling his suitcase closer to him. "If you're uncomfortable, we can always get a hotel-"

"Oh no," Hank said, determined, walking up the path of the gorgeous modern garden. "Tiwa will never forgive me if I pass this up, this is  _insane_. We are definitely taking Cole swimming in that. ...Wait a minute. So when you talk about your friend Markus with the plant nursery, you mean-"

Connor had the decency to look a little chagrined. "The founder of Jericho."

"And Josh?"

Connor scratched his cheek with an index finger. "The CEO."

"What about," Hank snapped his fingers, "The CFO, North, yeah, I think that's her name."

Connor looked off to the side. "I wouldn't consider us friends, no. I don't think she particularly likes me."

Hank snorted in disbelief. "How do you even know these guys?"

Connor smiled. "We're old friends. We go way back."

\---

Simon's place wasn't as dick-measuring-contest massive as many of the other homes sharing his zip code, but it had the kind of effortless unlived in modernity that reminded Hank of the minimalist bullshit home decor popular during his late 30s, and it made him massively uncomfortable. He dropped his duffel in one of the bedrooms off the hallway near the kitchen, and experimentally threw himself back on the austere bed. He groaned. It was going to be miserable going back to his mattress in Detroit after a week on this.

He took off his shoes and coat and changed into a loose henley and drawstring sweats, before he padded into the main room. It was an enormous open plan that encompassed the kitchen, dining room and a fireplace area with comfortable seating for large gatherings. The entire space took up the longest wall of the house, and was framed in by huge windows separating the interior from the pool and deck. Hank got himself a water glass, filling it from the fancy dispenser in the refrigerator, and turned toward the windows to take in the frankly excessive view.

Connor was already standing next to the pool outside, looking strange and ethereal, lit by the bruise purple light pollution from the city. He dove in a perfect arc into the water.

Hank walked to the edge of the pool, where he rolled up his pant legs and sat down, dipping his feet in to mid-calf. He held the cool glass of water to his head.

Connor surfaced, swimming in his direction. "You should come in, Hank," he said, slicking his hair back with his hands and wiping the excess water from his mouth and eyes. "You've had a long day, it's refreshing."

Hank shook his head. "Too tired," he said, sipping his water. "It's always like this, Dina invites me over for breakfast or lunch and I end up staying the whole day. I don't care as long as I get to see Cole, but it takes a lot out of me."

Connor put his arms over the rim of the pool, cushioning his head on them. "Nadine and Tiwa seem to be more fond of you than I was anticipating."

Hank snorted. "Well they should. I introduced them. Hell, I was in their wedding. Tiwa and I have a secret pact over the golf cart incident at his bachelor party, which Nadine can never know, in case you were thinking of texting her about it," he said, side-eyeing Connor. "You two seemed pretty cozy in the kitchen."

Connor made a gentle hmm-ing noise. "She was using me for information on you, I feel very manipulated."

Hank smiled. "She get anything good?"

"Pictures of you and Sumo, mostly. She worries about you. I like her."

"Yeah," Hank said softly, "They're good people. Good together. With Cole's... stuff, and the shit I put Dina through during the divorce they deserve something this good, you know?" He sighed, drinking the last of his water and setting the glass next to him.

"I don't think Cole likes me very much," Connor said, burying his face in his arms.

Hank barked out a laugh. "He's a twelve year old boy, he doesn't like anything very much."

Connor turned his head, looking up at him, wet eyelashes stuck together in little clumps. "He likes  _you._ "

"He likes me because he doesn't get to see me every day." Hank waved a hand. "You'll see. End of the week he'll be tired of his boring old dad, looking forward to going back to school."

Connor hmm-ed again. "I was trying. With Cole. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

  


Hank noticed as Connor's muscles contracted and released, the moles constellating across his shoulders and upper back moving with his body as he kicked lazily in the water. "That's probably part of the problem. You can't really  _try_ , with kids. They're mostly intuition and hormones and it takes a while for them to learn shit like tact. Or uhh," he scratched at his beard, "Sometimes never."

Connor smiled. 

Hank cleared his throat. "Sometimes blunt honesty is a nice change of pace though. Cole doesn't trust easy. You've got to earn it. But once you do, you're good."

Connor gave Hank a look that made him unsure as to whether they were still talking about Cole, before extending a hand toward him. "Help me out, Hank?"

Hank took his hand. 

He had just enough time to read the look on Connor's face to yell "Oh fuc-" before Connor kicked off the side of the pool, pulling him into the water.

It was in the space between heartbeats, half an eyeblink maybe, but for a moment, still gripping Connor's hand, Hank could have sworn he was somewhere else. It was like nowhere he'd ever been, nothing he'd  _felt_  before, like nothing he could properly articulate, but threaded through it he felt this strange, overwhelming sense of... Connor. Of the crackling joy and deep affection Connor was feeling in that moment, with him.

Hank broke the surface of the water, sputtering and coughing as his loose clothes billowed around him, and it was gone.

Connor was staring at him, treading water a few feet away, before he began to laugh.

Even working together every day and living together for nearly a month, Hank had only seen Connor laugh a few times, and even then it was nothing like this. He was flailing in the water, gasping for breath as he was wracked with laughter, trying to swim to the other side of the pool for something, anything to hold onto.

It was one of the most beautiful god damn things Hank had ever seen.

"Your face," he sobbed, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. "Oh, Hank-"

"Yeah, okay," Hank said, swimming toward Connor with a surprisingly agile breast stroke that spoke of his former athleticism.

Connor's eyes went wide, his laughter cut short as he realized too late that Hank was well within range, as he grabbed Connor by the leg and pulled him under.

\---

Short of breath, Hank crawled up the shallow steps at the far end of Simon's pool, Connor staggering not far behind. His eyes were stinging from the salt, and he was that kind of satisfying, bone-deep tired he always felt when he'd been swimming.

Dunking Connor under the water had turned into a stupid game, the kind of horsing around shit he hadn't realized he missed from his academy days. Given how waterlogged he felt, he wasn't sure if he'd won or not. Connor was surprisingly strong for his size. Either that, or Hank was really feeling his age.

Hank flopped up on the top step and brought himself into a sitting position, Connor standing on the step below him, knee deep in the water. He took off his shirt, wringing out the excess water. "You could have at least gotten me in my nasty plane clothes, this is my only set of pajamas."

He looked up, waiting for Connor to bite back with some smartass remark.

He couldn't place the expression on Connor's face. It was this inscrutable thing, somewhere between being at a complete loss, hysteria, indigestion and getting your name called for the Price is Right. Their eyes met. Connor looked away first.

"There are. I. Simon's dryer is next to the master bedroom, if you need it." He gestured in the direction of their bedrooms with his thumb. "Tired. I'm. Goodnight, Hank." He walked out of the water with an uncharacteristic clumsiness and retreated back into the house, foregoing the towel he'd left on the deck and dripping water across Simon's pristine wood floors without another word.

"Huh," Hank said out loud to no one.

He took Connor's towel and dried himself off as best as he could, grabbing a spare pair of boxers out of his bedroom before shoving his clothes in the dryer, wrapping the towel around his shoulders, shivering a little. When he passed by Connor's door, the light was already out. He walked back into the kitchen, thirsty after swimming for so long, and opened the fridge.

Inside, there were two entire shelves dedicated to blue Gatorade. Hank shrugged, picking up a bottle and uncapping it, bringing it up to his mouth to taste.

With near immediacy he retched into the sink.

\---

Cole walked out of Hank's bedroom in his swim trunks with little Ray-Bans perched on his head, having spent the better part of the morning at the Exploratorium with Hank. They'd been going on one-on-one outings for the last few days at Nadine's suggestion, before ending each day in Simon's pool. Tiwa had sent him over with inflatable pool toys early in the week, and Hank and Cole spent hours lazily floating on a giant donut and a big slice of pizza respectively, throwing a Nerf football back and fourth at each other, talking about everything and nothing.

Hank, now dressed in garish palm tree swim trunks and a white t-shirt, had Cole on his shoulders. They were playing an incomprehensible game called "Sharks and Minnows," but despite patient explanation the rules still eluded Connor.

Connor had grown a little in Cole's esteem, due in no small part to Simon's pool. He seemed excited by the prospect of telling his school friends that he'd actually been inside the elusive Simon from Jericho's  _house,_ and that his dad was friends with Simon'sfriend.

Nadine and Tiwa walked up the steps and into the main room, where Connor had some of the giant windows open to the deck, letting the breeze come in. Tiwa whistled, impressed, walking past the kitchen to set a cooler down next to the pool, while Nadine slipped off her flip flops and took off her wrap dress to reveal a pretty flowered one piece, throwing her things onto a tasteful patio lounger.

"I don't know what I was expecting when you said you had a place to stay, Hank," she said, slipping into the water, "but it definitely wasn't this." She smiled at Connor as he brought out a tray of drinks and set it down on a table nearby, and Tiwa took a running jump into the pool, splashing Hank and Cole in the process. It quickly devolved into a splash fight between the three of them. "You'll have to tell Simon how much we appreciate it."

Connor smiled back, nodding toward the stairs. "You can tell him yourself."

Simon walked up the steps, waved, and dropped his luggage off in the master before joining them on the patio. "It's nice to see this place getting some actual use," he said warmly. "Good to see you, Connor," he said, pulling him into a hug. Connor gave him a tight squeeze, and Simon's eyes widened fractionally at the desperate look he gave him. They would talk later.

Nadine and Tiwa migrated over to the steps to give Simon their thanks and hellos, while Hank and Cole hung back. Cole held onto Hank's arm, and Hank was reminded how shy he was around new people. He picked him up and carried him out of the pool, wrapping them both up in huge beach towels and letting Cole hide behind him as they approached Simon. Hank extended his hand in greeting, and Simon shook it firmly.

Simon had that same kind of unreal attractiveness that occasionally snuck up on Hank when Connor wasn't being, well,  _Connor._ Watching them interact made him ache a little.

"Simon," Hank said, putting an arm around Cole and gently encouraging him to come out from behind his legs. "It's great to meet you. Connor talks about you a lot but I didn't quite put two and two together until we got here. This is my son, Cole. Nadine and Tiwa are his mom and dad, too."

Cole looked up at him, more than a little awestruck, before Simon knelt down to his level. "Connor mentioned you go to a performing arts school. I love the theater, what shows are you working on this spring?"

Hank and Cole gave Connor almost identical grateful looks, and Cole, in his element, launched into a whole discussion on upcoming tryouts for  _Into the Woods,_  and his nervousness about his singing voice and his chances of landing a part against the students in higher grades. Tiwa started passing around the mango lemonade Connor had made, and the rest of the adults made small talk while Cole monopolized Simon's attention.

By the time evening rolled around, everyone was either lounging back in the pool or on the patio chairs. Nadine glanced at her phone. "Oh, Hank, we have reservations at the Plumed Horse at 8, we wanted to take you, have a nice family dinner out," she eyed Connor, before adding "You and Simon are welcome to come of course, they have vegan options."

Connor gave Simon a significant look.

"Actually, Connor and I have some stuff to catch up on, if I can steal him for the rest of the evening," Simon said, patting Connor's shoulder.

Cole couldn't hide his look of disappointment nearly as well as Hank.

\---

Nadine leaned closer to Hank as Tiwa wheeled Cole to the bathroom. The afternoon in the pool had taken its toll on him physically and he'd asked to use his chair before they got to the restaurant.

"So. You and Connor."

Hank swallowed a bite of sea scallop. "Me and Connor what, Dina?" he asked, voice low.

She sighed audibly. "Come on, Hank. I have eyes."

Hank grunted. "Yeah, well, nothing to see," he said, shoving beef carpaccio into his mouth.

"Hank, the only reason I'm letting you spend so much time at Simon's is because I want Cole to get used to his future stepdad," she said with a grin.

Hank choked, pounding on his chest. "Jesus Christ, Nadine," he hissed between coughs.

She laughed. "Please, you have such a type."

Hank took long sips of his water, glaring at her. "Well apparently Connor's type is hot, rich, blonde tech bros," he muttered, stabbing at a cured egg yolk.

Nadine paled. "Oh, Hank, with the way Connor's been acting around you all week you honestly think he's interested in Si-"

Hank slammed a palm on the table, making her jump. The couple at the table closest to them looked over in concern before returning to their meal.

"Nadine, he's my partner at work. That's all. I'm not going to fucking... perv on a kid twenty years my junior who is both my  _partner_  and my  _subordinate_  like some old creep and ruin the best thing I have going for me in Detroit. I'd lose my job and I'd  _deserve_  it."

"I just thought-"

"Not everyone can be you and Tiwa, Nadine. Not everyone gets a second chance. Just. Jesus fuck," he said, putting his head in his hands. "Just leave it alone."

\---

Simon pulled away from Connor, blue energy crackling like static between their hands. "Uhh, holy shit Connor."

Connor looked at him, eyes wide, before covering his face, groaning. "Simon, what do I  _do?"_

Simon smoothed a hand back through his hair. "I mean, damn Connor, I don't know. I'd say ask Markus or Josh but, um. Well. We like the  _idea_  of humanity, none of us went and fell in lo-"

Connor shoved a hand over his mouth.  _"Simon._ Please don't. And please don't involve anyone else in this.  _Please."_

Connor dropped his hand and Simon rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well. Um. Are you going to tell him?"

Connor looked as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him, and began panicking again.

Simon grabbed him by the shoulders. "Connor.  _Breathe._  Well, I mean. You know. Sort of?"

Connor slumped, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "If I pursue this, he could lose his livelihood. I could lose my job. We might never  _work_  together again."

Simon blinked.  _"Connor,"_ he said, exasperated. "Logistically speaking I think there are more important variables here than whether or not you and Hank can continue to work together if you two  _bone down."_

Connor blushed a furious shade of red, as though the thought most definitely hadn't occurred to him.

"Oh my  _God,"_ Simon said, putting his head in his hands.

\---

Connor was loading the last of their bags into the rental car, as Cole, Nadine and Tiwa were saying their goodbyes to Hank. They'd had an enjoyable, if somewhat subdued rest of the week. Nadine, though not outwardly cold toward Connor, was considerably less warm after they'd come back from dinner that Thursday night. Hank had been acting exceedingly irritable, waffling between snapping at Connor for arbitrary annoyances, being apologetic for his moodiness, or not talking to him at all. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd done something wrong.

Simon was in and out, but he'd made sure to drop in and talk to Cole when he was at the house, and had come to Nadine's that morning briefly during breakfast to say goodbye to Hank and Connor. Connor could tell Hank was making an effort not to be annoyed at Simon. The whole thing was baffling and exhausting, and he was looking forward to some time alone with Hank to figure out, to paraphrase the man himself,  _what the fuck was going on._

Connor closed the trunk of the rental and approached the four of them.

Tiwa pulled Hank into a big bear hug, and then gave Connor one of his patented half-handshake-half-hugs. Nadine threw her arms around Hank, kissing his cheek and muttering a quiet “Take care of yourself, you big idiot," into his shoulder. 

She pulled Connor into a hug. "Take care of that big idiot for me," she whispered to him as quietly as she could. He nodded once, and she patted him on the shoulder. "I'll text you," she said, gesturing with her phone.

Cole hugged him around the waist.

It was only a few seconds, and Connor didn't have the time to lower his arms and reciprocate before Cole said a muffled "Thanks Connor," into his pancreas area and moved away.

He hurled himself at Hank's midsection and said "Don't go, dad."

Connor could see Hank struggling to keep it together as he crouched to Cole's level and crushed him into a hug. Connor looked away as Hank murmured reassurances to him, and with a short nod and a sniffle, Cole pulled away, scrubbing at his face.

He cleared his throat. "I'll uh. We'll see you next time, yeah?"

Nadine put her hand on her hip.  _"Next time_  better be sooner than next year, Hank Anderson."

Hank ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah. I'll start looking at flights for September."

\---

Hank was not especially fond of flying. As he surfaced out of the light sleep he had somehow managed after takeoff, large body and long legs contorted under the seat in front of him, face smashed up against the window, he found Connor dead asleep, mouth slightly open against his shoulder. As he drifted off again he found that this particular flight, he didn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount to which Hank’s life is completely out of his own control is extremely relatable
> 
> thank you so much for comments & kudos, you all sound very attractive and intimidating


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank falls. So does Connor.

 

"So you're an alien," Hank said, twining his fingers together with Connor's on the sofa. 

"In a manner of speaking." 

"From outer space?"

"To put it very simply."

"Hank." Connor said, still on edge. "...How did you know?"

 

Hank scratched at his neck. "How did I know? Well, you're interested in me, for one thing." 

 

Connor let out that wounded little noise he always made when he thought Hank was being especially self deprecating, and Hank wrapped his arms around him. Connor buried his face in Hank's chest as he started gently rubbing Connor's back.

 

"Okay, okay, let's see. It wasn't something that happened all at once, it was just a lot of little things that added up. Aside from the whole, sticking your fingers in my bullet wounds thing, and the, you know, the glowy hand shit," Hank said with a wave. Connor winced. "You drink that noxious ass blue shit, and before you ask,  _yes_  I tried it,  _yes_  I regret it, it was disgusting and it happened  _way_  before you started writing your passive aggressive little notes all over it."

 

Connor made a noise in protest, but didn't look up. "It's a base nutrient slurry. It supports my functions and offsets my energy expenditures."

 

"Well, it's fucking gross," Hank said with a grin. "What else? You never buy toilet paper. You never even notice when it's out, which is funny to me because you send me texts like "The toothpaste will run out in 2.4 days Hank, please purchase when convenient, winky-face emoji," he could feel Connor start to smile through his shirt. 

 

Hank laughed. "I guess I just think it's funny how you thought after all this time I'd, I dunno, care? I caught you eating that big scoop of vegan mayo straight from the jar and didn't run screaming, don't pretend this is somehow more weird."

Connor's ears turned bright pink. "...It was an experiment."

"Was your hypothesis  _"how disgusting can I be before Hank stops buying vegenaise altogether"_  because if you haven't noticed there's still a jar in the fridge. Damn, let your freak flag fly Con, I don't care."

 

Hank got quiet, his hands pausing in their ministrations. "My whole damn job is to notice things other people don't, Connor. Sometimes I'm afraid you think I'm that stupid, and I'm not just letting you take advantage of the giant Connor-shaped blind spot I have."

 

"You're taking this much better than I had anticipated," Connor mumbled into his chest, tightening his fingers in Hank's shirt.

 

"What were you anticipating? A big fight, or something?" he snorted. "You could bench press me."

 

Connor looked up at him imploringly. "...When I ran the numbers there was an 82% likelihood you would want to sever contact with me entirely."

 

Hank frowned, holding him a little tighter, before laying a kiss on his temple. "Well that's what you get for extrapolating from a flawed dataset, ya fuckin' walnut."

 

\---

 

The return to normalcy after San Francisco was short lived, with a bout of the flu hitting the precinct hard enough that they were clocking overtime until Valentine's Day. It seemed like Hank and Connor were the only ones immune as officers rotated on and off of sick leave.

 

The weather had been especially miserable, with two blizzards dropping three feet of snow onto the city, and the temperatures dipped below zero in the interim, turning everything into a sheet of ice.

 

The only thing worse than dealing with corpses on a daily basis was having to dig out corpsicles. Cataloguing evidence was a nightmare.

 

"Don't take this the wrong way Bambi," detective Chen said miserably through her face mask. It was scented and had a cheerful cat face printed on the front, courtesy of Mrs. Chen. It only seemed to underscore Tina's misery. "But I hate you and your stupid immune system and I want you to suffer like I've suffered," she said, pouring packets of EmergenC into two paper cups.

 

Gavin slumped over his terminal as Tina passed him a fizzing cup.

 

"I brought you two quarts of mock-chicken-noodle soup," Connor said, reaching into his bag and setting them on her desk.

 

Her eyes lit up. "I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you, you perfect baby angel," she said pulling the container toward herself. "Oh my god it's still hot."

 

"I just warmed it up in the break room."

 

She gave him prayer hands and pulled her mask down to eat, eyes red rimmed and sinuses congested, as Connor handed her two spoons.

 

He eyed Gavin momentarily as Reed wiped his nose on his sleeve, pathetic. "Detective Reed isn't allowed to have any," Connor said matter of factly.

 

"Like fuck I'm not, you little asshole." Gavin said through a haze of postnasal drip. He pulled the second quart toward himself, Tina handing him the other spoon.

 

Hank shook his head, laughing quietly as Connor walked back to their shared desk with a small, self satisfied grin.

 

\---

 

Connor was running at breakneck speed across the rooftops of the Urban Farms of Detroit complex, chasing a suspect in connection with a series of highly targeted burglaries that had ended in three murder victims and a nightmarish months-long homicide investigation. They'd been on the hunt for this suspect since early March, and finally,  _finally_ he'd slipped up.

 

After a tip from one of Mathias Nilsson's less loyal customers, Hank had kicked in the door to an absolutely squalid safe house. A cursory investigation under layers of pigeon shit and debris had revealed Nilsson's whereabouts, but he'd gotten the jump on Connor before making his escape on foot.

 

Hank, cursing Nilsson's feathery little pigeon pals under his breath, took a detour. He knew the UFD layout well enough to figure out where Connor would likely try to shepherd their suspect, and booked it to the rooftop, calling for street level backup on his way.

 

Hank had been working with Connor for over a year, but watching him chase down a perp was still something that sent a little thrill down his spine.

 

Connor tore after Nilsson, across the decrepit apartment and out the fire exit, dodging scaffolding holding up the UFD's massive signage and advertisements, over a loading dock and up the side of the building using a truck full of pallets for leverage. The dangerous thing about Nilsson was that he was fast and athletic, and didn't care who got in his way.

 

Connor had the advantage of being faster.

 

He ran through a hothouse full of tomatoes and slid across a greenhouse roof and through a broken window, making a beeline for Nilsson as he scrambled through the UFD's hydroponics facility. He yelled his apologies to the farm workers tending to a field of lavender as he kicked up their fragrant flowers, trying to cut Nilsson off as he made his way across a temporary bridge and over the side of the building, down yet another greenhouse roof and onto a moving commuter train.

 

Hank could see Connor from across the roof as he just barely rolled in time to miss an open window, landing on the train and giving chase. "Fucking parkour shit," Hank muttered, rubbing at his face, heart thundering in his chest at the stupid risks Connor was taking.

 

Connor funneled Nilsson through a grove of trees and into another hothouse, jumping plant benches and dodging around an industrial composter before throwing his hands up in front of himself as he dashed through a field of corn.

 

He regained visibility just in time to see Nilsson push Hank over the ledge of the roof.

 

Time seemed to slow and speed up all at once. Connor was there in an instant, gripping Hank by the arm and pulling him up single handedly as Mathias Nilsson made his exit down a fire escape.

 

"Shit! Shit, we  _had_  him!" Hank cursed, slamming a fist on the ground before pushing himself onto his knees. "Fuck!" he muttered, rising slowly to his feet. "You'd have caught him if it weren't for me."

 

Connor's whole worldview narrowed to a pinpoint, centered entirely around Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

 

"It's alright," Hank said, regaining his breath. "Chris knows he's coming, we've got DPD officers surrounding this whole fucking place. We know what he looks like, we'll find him."

 

If Connor hadn't been there, if he'd been a few seconds too late, if he'd gone after Nilsson instead of helping Hank up. Harrowing possibilities splintered before him like shattering glass. Hank would have fallen. Hank would have-

 

Hank turned toward the door to the roof access. "Hey Connor..." he began.

 

Connor grabbed him by the lapels of his brown leather jacket, shoving him up against the wall and crushing their mouths together.

 

\---

 

"RK800, oh, I'm sorry. Josh told me. Connor," Markus said, looking pleased as he stood up, brushing against the leaves of a large hanging pothos as he walked around his desk. "I'm so happy you called. Would you care to sit?"

 

Connor nodded, taking a seat in the same chair as he had those weeks before, though now it seemed like lifetimes ago. 

 

"Tea?" Markus asked, handing him a glass. He took it gratefully.

 

"I wanted to apologize," Markus began, "in part because North won't, and what she did is inexcusable which I promise you we've been over, and in part because... I feel like I've done you a disservice, Connor."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I... Josh, Simon, North and I, we have a history. We've been together in some form or another for a very, very long time. I know them better than I know myself, sometimes. I forget that you and I don't have that history. I thought that, because you and I are... because of who we are I assumed some things about you that I don't think were particularly  _fair."_

Connor frowned, examining his glass of tea.

"I think you needed more time. And I regret just... sending you away. Simon, North and Josh, they had support when they first arrived. We were there for each other. You... you've been alone. How could I expect you to just... want to be a part of what we're building, when the view of this world that I've given you is one of confusion and abandonment."

 

"I..." Connor paused. "I actually... I came here to ask a favor of you."

 

"Oh...?"

 

"Perhaps more accurately, a favor of Simon. He said, when I visited him, he said if I wanted, if there was something I wanted to do, a way to establish myself here. He said he could help."

 

Markus set his glass down. "Of course Connor. Anything we can do for you."

 

Connor sat forward, leaning on his knees, turning his own glass in his hands. "I... you see... I'd like to stay in Detroit. I've... Something is happening to me. At least. I think it is? I feel. I would like to stay here, to explore what. I'm sorry, I'm articulating myself poorly."

 

Markus smiled softly. "Take your time."

 

Connor breathed in. "I think I've met someone."

 

\---

 

Hank brought his hands up to smooth over Connor's face in desperation, his thumbs rubbing over his cheekbones, thick fingers carding through Connor's hair as they kissed. Connor slid his hands from their grip on the curve of Hank's ass to slide lower, to dig his fingers into the meat of his thighs, squeezing. Hank made a soft, helpless sound as he opened his mouth and Connor took advantage of the way his knees buckled, lifting Hank off the ground and pressing him into the wall, flush together from chest to groin as Connor wrapped Hank's legs around his midsection.

 

Hank pulled away with a gasp, as a tiny blue spark of energy jumped between their mouths.

 

Connor closed the space between them again as he fell headlong into Hank's inner landscape. It was dizzying, lacking the kind of finesse or structure that he or the members of Jericho could exhibit when they synchronized, but. But.

 

It was like standing submerged in a coursing whirlpool of Hank's memory and Hank's present, overwhelming and simultaneous. He could pick out streams of consciousness as they brushed by him, warm and affectionate, almost every one focused, delirious and euphoric on-

 

On  _Connor_. 

 

He was surrounded by unguarded  _feeling._  

 

At one moment, he felt the faded bruises of confusion and disappointment on Connor's first day at the precinct, of Hank's want and injured pride, the sting of rejection, his suspicion. Months of drowning himself in resentment at Jimmy's, desperately trying not to catalogue Connor's moles, not to think about his big brown eyes or the way he filled out his uniform. Connor sucked in a breath of air as Hank breathed out.  _Closer._  He closed the space between them again, licking into Hank's mouth. Hank had, even then-

 

Another moment, the way Hank's body ached with jealousy seeing him with Simon, seeing Simon with Cole. Hank, whiskey sick and drowning in self loathing, propped up against his own bathtub as Connor, gorgeous and infuriating and entirely too good for him, offered to help him shower. His vehement denial, his self disgust at dinner with Nadine. The dozens of casual brushes of their shoulders, of their hands, that sent a guilty pulse of warmth through Hank's extremities. When Hank had hugged him at Christmas, and for a brief moment, a flash of what Hank would have done to him,  _wanted_  to do to him.  _More._

The sucker punch of seeing Connor wearing Hank's wedding band, the swell of desire blooming across Hank's senses when he'd said  _Mr. Anderson_  across that bathroom in Rivertown, how  _right_  it felt to him. Connor, standing in the middle of Hank's house, nearly naked, asking a desperately hungover Hank for forgiveness. The first person Hank had seen when he opened his eyes at the hospital, exhausted, holding a basket of yellow mums. Captivating, illuminated in the moving light reflecting off the surface of the water, diving into Simon's pool. Curled up on the couch in Hank's DPD sweatshirt with Sumo, reading a book. The swell of tenderness the few times Hank had caught him asleep. 

 

The way Hank's heart had pounded in his chest when Connor preempted the things Cole had needed, when he and Cole had bonded over their mutual love of Sumo, floating together on an inflatable slice of pizza. When Cole had  _hugged_  him.

 

The relief overwriting the desperate fear as Connor held him at the Harbor Terminal, as Connor pulled him back over the ledge to safety.

 

Connor gasped. He wanted- He _wanted._

 

Hank pushed him away by the shoulders, dazed and short of breath. Connor lost his grip and Hank slid down the wall until his feet could touch ground again, as they panted into each other's mouths.

 

"Connor. Connor,  _we can't."_

 

\---

 

Connor took a step back, and then another, and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shortish chapter, but seemed like the logical place to end it. i’ve had the rooftop bit partially written since the beginning, can’t believe it only took me 30k to get here. 
> 
> only a couple chapters left, but uh, i definitely wrote out something for a potential sequel over lunch today. cool cool cool cool cool cool cool.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating. Explicit scenes are delineated by asterisks *** , so feel free to skip as needed.

 

 

 

RK900 stood up from the floor, startling his predecessor and his predecessor's... associate, who had likely forgotten he was there. 

 

Connor sat up guiltily. "RK900, how are you feeling?"

 

He gave Connor a disgruntled look. "I have inquiries."

 

"I'm happy to answer-"

 

"Not for _you,"_ he said with a frown, dusting himself off. "I need to speak to Jericho."

 

RK900 cleared his throat. "Thank you Connor, for- It was good to-” RK900 reconsidered. "We saw each other. That is something I can say with certainty."

 

Connor smiled. "I'm glad to have seen you, RK900. If you need anything in the future from me, please let me know. I can call Markus to see his availability-"

 

"Markus is not who I am interested in," RK900 said, matter-of-factly.

 

Connor cocked his head, confused. "But Jericho-"

 

"No," RK900 said, making his way to the door. "I need to speak to North."

 

\---

 

Hank knew that life-or-death situations were par for the course with his job, but it had been a while since he'd gotten that close to staring his own mortality in the face. As Connor lifted him from the ledge of the roof, through the fog of fear and adrenaline, that niggling voice in the back of Hank's mind asked how,  _how_  was Connor pulling him up like this, when physics dictated that he just didn't have the upper body strength.

 

He could feel the adrenaline wreaking havoc on his nerves, the frustration bubbling to the surface as Nilsson slipped through their grasp,  _again,_ because Connor had to waste time saving his old, out-of-shape ass. He slammed his fist on the ground. Once upon a time, when Hank had been in peak physical condition, he'd have body checked a wiry shitbag like Nilsson like a rag doll in a hurricane. Meanwhile, Connor was fucking vaulting trains like a god damned gazelle. The thought stung.

 

Hank stood up. He was a champion at compartmentalizing his own personal failings, he might as well try to finish doing his job now. They still had a shot at bagging this fucker, if he could coordinate their teams on the street. Hank checked his pockets for his phone and found Connor's first, which he'd been holding for him since digging through half a ton of pigeon shit for most of the morning.

 

Hank stood, shakily making his way to the roof access. Before he could string a full sentence together, Connor was on him.

 

It was easy to get caught in the moment, his heart still pounding in his ears from the whole almost dying thing a minute before, and Connor kissed him with the single minded focus that he did everything else. Hank couldn't remember the last time he'd been manhandled like this, and it fucking liquified his resolve. Where was he? Lieutenant Anderson who?

 

After his initial surprise it was very clear that it had probably been a while since Connor had done this.

 

 

 

 

Don't get him wrong, Connor's enthusiasm more than made up for the clumsy way he attacked Hank's mouth. It was sweet. Very Connor. As their teeth clacked together, hard, in a jarring way that sent a mild shot of pain reverberating through Hank's lower jaw, he figured he might as well offer some guidance as the more experienced party.

 

He cupped Connor's face in his hands, changing the angle of their kiss to slot their mouths together and bit at Connor's lower lip to soften him up a little, to try and get the hard line of his mouth to relax into it. When Connor's mouth opened in a soft inhalation of air, Hank touched their tongues together, and Connor made the softest little noise into him, moving his hands from Hank's lower back to go to town on his backside. In most of his prior encounters, Hank was the one playing grab ass, and the turnabout was deliriously hot.

 

He took the opportunity to thoroughly mess up Connor's stupid, perfect hair, and it was exactly as soft as he'd imagined. He gripped it by the roots, particularly self indulgent given the number of times he'd thought about it over the last year, pulling ever so slightly as Connor gave a low groan that went straight to his dick. 

 

The hands shamelessly feeling him up moved lower, and Connor started tentatively reciprocating the amount of tongue Hank had been slipping him, making Hank's knees give the fuck out. Hank was saved from doing something embarrassing, like falling over, by the death grip Connor had on his thighs. In a move that obliterated the last of Hank's coherent thought, Connor lifted him up and pinned him to the wall with that fucking inhuman strength.

 

God  _damn._

 

Connor pulled away from him to take a breath, and as Hank met him in another scorching kiss, in a blink he found himself in that strange other place he'd seen for half-an-instant in the pool with Connor, months ago. He didn't know how to describe it. It was like finally being submerged in the deepest, coolest water when you've been on fire for your entire life. It was like those ASMR tingle video things, but turned up to eleven, like every nerve in his body was lit up and tuned specifically to Connor's frequency.

 

If a place could be a person, this place was Connor. He could observe little thoughts as though they were both experiences and objects. Picking one up, he saw himself, protecting Connor at that intersection, Sumo waiting patiently on the sidewalk. He could feel the  _satisfaction_  Connor felt at being covered by him, the way Connor's stomach flipped as Hank cradled his face, as Hank pulled away and helped him up. The instant, overwhelming and all consuming fascination. 

 

He moved forward, touching another collection of memories. In a distant way, he felt Connor take in one of his breaths before sealing their mouths back together.

 

A painstakingly prepared Thanksgiving dinner in the saddest, most minimalist apartment he'd ever seen, and the low key thrum of nervousness, waiting until the opportune time to offer it to him. Persistence in the face of rejection as Hank ignored his entreaties in a cold cup of coffee and an uneaten donut. The strange joy at every crime scene, watching him analyze and intuit, often faster than Connor. How unused to not being the best at something he was, and how  _attractive_  he found the concept.

 

The way Connor's body had  _heated,_  seeing that bare strip of stomach peeking over Hank's drawstring pants, that same strip of stomach he'd been self conscious about since before he'd made Lieutenant. Hank, wringing out his shirt in the pool, at the hospital, the first time Connor had seen his bare chest. Oh.  _Oh._

 

Holding Hank at the Harbor Terminal, the idea of being without him for even a few months of recuperation completely and utterly unbearable.

 

A flash of blue light.

 

Hank gently pushed Connor away, trying to come to his senses, to extricate himself from the confusion, from their strangely tangled thoughts. Reality flooded in. Nilsson. Backup. They were on a case, for fuck's sake. Their suspect was still in the vicinity.

 

Connor lost his hold and Hank slid down the wall.  _God._  As he regained some semblance of balance, he questioned his sanity. It would be easy to pull his partner back in by the belt loops and finish what Connor had started. The prospect made his blood  _pound._

 

The sound of an incoming police chopper broke him from his reverie. Fuck his fucking overdeveloped sense of responsibility.

 

"Connor. Connor,  _we can't."_

Connor looked at him in slowly dawning comprehension, pupils blown to fuck. He stepped away, and before Hank could reach for him, could call his name, Connor was gone.

 

\---

 

"Yeah babe, hold on, let me get the pizz- Bambi?" Tina Chen asked, opening the door to her apartment, expecting the Buddy's delivery driver.

 

"...I apologize detective Chen, I didn't realize you had company," Connor said to the floor. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you on your day off. I'll... I can go," he said, turning to leave.

 

"Hooold it Connor," Tina said, grabbing his arm and guiding him into the apartment. "What's going on? I thought you were with the Lieutenant, the Nilsson thing's been all over Channel 4 all afternoon."

 

"I... I've made a mistake. With the Lieutenant. I don't..." Tina watched in horror as Connor's eyes welled with tears. "I think I've done something we can't come back from and now I don't know what to do," he finished.

 

"Li Na.  _Li Na_ , honey, please help me, there's a crying man in my apartment," Tina said, backing away from him in horror.

 

"If it's Gavin tell him to go home, I can't take him seriously after the Applebee's thing," Li Na said, walking to the door in Tina's DPD hoodie holding a mixing bowl full of brownie batter on her hip. Tina looked at her helplessly, mouthing  _"what do I do?"_ as Connor covered his mouth with his hand, inhaling deeply through his nose, shaking.

 

"Uhh, oh boy, okay," Li Na said, handing the bowl off to Tina and patting Connor's shoulder, leading him to the couch. "Um, hi, I guess, I'm Li Na."

 

"It's very nice to finally meet you," Connor said, voice wavering as he tried to calm himself down. "Tina has said lovely things. I'm Con- Connor," he finished.

 

Li Na nodded at him in sudden understanding. "So  _you're_  Connor. You make pretty good soup," she said, pantomiming a drinking motion and mouthing  _"water,"_ to Tina over his shoulder. She nodded, grabbing a glass from the drying rack and filling it up from the dispenser on the fridge. 

 

Connor gave a weak laugh, scrubbing at his eyes. "Thanks."

 

Tina walked back to them, setting the glass in front of Connor before sitting next to him on the couch.

 

"So. What'd the Lieutenant do?"

 

"It wasn't- It was  _me_  this time. I-" he cut himself off. "Do you remember the incident from before I started at the DPD?"

 

Tina's eyes went wide. "Oh  _Bambi,_  no, what happened?"

 

Connor slumped, staring at the floor between his knees, completely miserable. 

 

"Yikes, worse than that, huh?" she said, gently rubbing between his shoulder blades.

 

There was a knock at the door as Li Na rose to get it. "I swear if it's another sad police boy and not my fucking pizza I'm not leaving a tip," she muttered, throwing open the door.

 

\---

 

The backup Hank had called in caught Nilsson trying to jump another train, and in the clusterfuck following his arrest it was well into the evening before Hank could even leave the precinct. Wrapping up higher profile cases was always miserable, but this was fucking agony.

 

He stood at the front desk of Jericho's Detroit headquarters, arguing with a receptionist, when Markus walked out of the elevators. "Markus!" Hank called across the lobby. Markus glanced in his direction once before ignoring him entirely. Hank clenched his fist.

 

"Markus, is Connor here?" he yelled, embarrassed at the notice he was drawing to himself. 

 

Markus paused. At least it got his attention.

 

He walked over to reception as the man behind the desk paled. Markus squinted slightly at Hank, before seeming to place him, holding out a hand. "Sorry, I get a lot of reporters through here. Did you say something about Connor?"

 

Hank nodded, wiping his sweaty hand on his pant leg before shaking Markus'. "Hi, yeah, hey, I'm uh, I'm Hank Anderson, Lieutenant, from the DPD. I know you and Connor are friends, he was uh, kind of upset when he left today and I was just wondering if you've seen him?"

 

"So  _you're_  Lieutenant Anderson," Markus said, raising his eyebrows. 

 

Hank turned the slightest shade of pink. "Uh, yeah. Yep. That's me. Um, so about Connor."

 

Markus shook his head. "He hasn't been by."

 

Hank looked crestfallen. "Oh. Ok. It's just," Hank said, holding out Connor's phone. "He forgot this today, and I don't know the damn password and I thought, I mean if he's not with you, maybe he's been in contact with Simon, or Josh maybe?"

 

Markus nodded, reaching into his pocket and shooting off a text. "I'll ask them now."

 

Hank nodded, looking slightly relieved. "Sorry about all this," he said, waving a hand, embarrassment showing through the worry.

 

"Of course not," Markus said, looking up at him. "You're important to Connor, I'll have Loukas give you security clearance so this doesn't happen again," Markus said with a nod and a gesture to the receptionist who, by now, looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

 

"That's... uh, thanks," Hank muttered.

 

"Here," Markus said, getting out his phone again. "Give me your number and I'll give it to Josh and North, I think you already have Simon's, yes?"

 

Hank nodded once, rattling off his number as Markus typed it into his phone and texted Hank with a little "ding!"

 

"Keep me updated, Lieutenant," Markus said with a nod.

 

"Yeah, sure, uh, thanks. Thank you Markus."

 

"It's nice to finally put a name to the face," Markus said with a small smile.

 

Hank cocked his head, confused. "Huh..?"

 

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I do have to go. I'll text if I hear anything," Markus said, walking toward the huge revolving doors out to the street. He paused. "Oh, Lieutenant," he said, pointing to Connor's phone. "Have you tried  _"Hank?"_

 

Markus heard the distinct sound of Lieutenant Anderson swearing a blue streak in the lobby, laughing softly as he walked out onto the sidewalk.

 

\---

 

Hank stopped at home to see if Connor had been there, and even though all the lights were off he still wandered from room to room, just in case. His house seemed so much bigger when Connor wasn't there. Sumo whined, nosing at his hand as Hank leaned down to scratch behind his ears.

 

He rifled behind the cleaning supplies under the sink for his emergency bottle of Black Lamb.

 

Instead of finding anything resembling whiskey, he found an empty bottle with a sticky note that said "Door stuck. Needed alcohol to melt ice. Will replace later. :D" from over the winter. His mouth twitched, remembering that day. Little shit probably could have pulled the door off the fucking hinges without breaking a sweat. He put the bottle next to the sink and grabbed his car keys, walking back outside.

 

The drive to Jimmy's was faster than walking.

 

Hank shoved his hand into his pocket as he was reaching for the door handle of his preferred dive. His phone vibrated.

 

**Any word?**

It was Markus.

 

Hank stepped away from the door.

 

**Still looking** Hank texted back.

 

**North, Josh and Simon haven't heard from him. Should we be worried? I have resources.**

 

Hank shook his head with a sigh.

 

**No, not yet. This is a my fault thing, not a scary thing. I think. I'll let you know ASAP.**

**Good luck, Lieutenant Anderson.** Markus sent him a "thumbs up" emoji. Hank reflected on the absurdity of his existence.

He fished Connor's phone back out of his pocket, typing in 4265, the letters corresponding to his own damn name. It would take a while to suppress the humiliation of  _that_  one. Connor needed a stronger password, the goober.

 

He scrolled through Connor's contacts. There weren't that many, and they were mostly from either Jericho or the DPD. Detective Reed was delineated by a : | face, which made Hank smile, just a little.

 

Hank was his most recent call and text messages. Underneath Hank's name, however...

 

Hank turned away from Jimmy's, and got back into his car.

 

\---

 

"Tina," Li Na called back into the apartment, annoyed. "It's not the pizza."

 

With a frown and a last little pat on Connor's back, Tina joined Li Na at the door with a long suffering sigh. "Gimme a minute," she said, pecking Li Na on the cheek and joining Lieutenant Anderson out in the hallway. She crossed her arms.

 

Hank cleared his throat. "Is he here?"

 

Tina raised her eyebrow. "That depends, Lieutenant. My  _friend_  is here, looking inconsolable because of some dumb shit his stupid partner probably said or whatever. But if you're looking for detective Archai he's off duty and currently unavailable."

 

_"Please,_  Tina," Hank said, wringing his hands. "I have to talk to him."

 

"About  _what,_  Hank?"

 

"About how it was a misunderstanding and I'm a big fuckin' idiot and I'm  _sorry."_

 

Tina paused, considering. "Ok, yeah, he's here. You stay put," she said, poking him in the chest. "I'm going to go hype him up so he has the confidence to stand up to your dumb ass."

 

Connor was sitting on the couch, rigid, as Tina walked back over to him. Li Na was putting the brownies in the oven, muttering to herself in Hokkien. "You okay, Bambi?"

 

"Was that  _him?"_  Connor whispered, wide eyed.

 

"Yup," Tina said, popping the p. "The Lieutenant is here and he wants to talk to you. He specifically used the word "sorry," so, uh, if you want to talk to him, you can. Or you can stay here and I'll tell him to fuck off. I think the pizza guy got lost or died or something, but we'll have hot brownies in about twenty to twenty-five minutes," she said, offering him a half smile. "My couch is weird, old, and extremely uncomfortable, but she was free and she's yours if you want to stay."

 

Connor shook his head. "I. I should." He gestured toward the door. 

 

Tina nodded, helping him up and walking him over. She opened it, giving Connor a little bit of protective cover, only to find Lieutenant Anderson standing there with a pizza.

 

"Figured I could at least pick up your dinner for the trouble," he said, handing it over.

 

She snorted. "Okay, slightly less irritated with you." She stepped out of Connor's way, making meaningful eye contact. "You text me, okay Bambi?" she said, nudging him with her elbow as he walked out.

 

He gave her a grateful nod and she shut the door.

 

"Is every boy you work with a complete disaster?" Li Na asked, leaning over the kitchen island.

 

Tina walked over, leaning across to kiss her. "I think Chris is a normal fucking human being. I don't want to think about Ben." She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "Would you believe those two idiots have the highest percentage of closed cases at the precinct so far this year?"

 

\---

 

Connor stood in front of Hank, nervous.

 

"We need to-" 

 

"I shouldn't have-"

 

they said at the same time.

 

"You go first," they said, again.

 

Hank shoved his hands back into his pockets with a deep sigh. "We need to talk."

 

Connor winced, and stared at his shoes.

 

"Hey, hey, no, not like that," Hank moved closer to him, leaning down to try and catch his eyes. "Sorry, that's uh, that's terrible, that's the worst fucking phrase in the world. I mean. I need to. We need to be in a place where we can have a conversation, okay? And not like, outside Tina's apartment. Or in the car, I want to, uh, I want to be able to look at you. When we talk."

 

Connor met his eyes, noting the light dusting of red around Hank's cheeks and ears. "Okay..." Connor said.

 

Hank let out a breath. "Okay. Good. Yeah, so uh. We can talk in the car but like, not  _talk_  talk, okay? I want to get this right."

 

Connor nodded slowly.

 

Hank offered him his hand, and Connor's heart started beating double time. "Let's go home, yeah?"

 

Connor took it, letting Hank take the lead.

 

\---

 

The car ride back to Hank's was filled with uncomfortable silence, Connor laying his palms flat on his pants, tense in the passenger seat. Any attempts to make small talk fell flat, both of them too nervous to speak.

 

Hank adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and reached over the center console, offering Connor his hand again. Connor looked at it, and then at Hank, before slipping his left hand into Hank's right. 

 

Connor couldn't help but notice how big Hank's hands were, comparatively, and he warmed slightly, turning to look out the window. Hank concentrated on the rest of the drive, but not before giving Connor's hand a gentle squeeze. It was the best he could do for some reassurance, for the both of them.

 

Sumo greeted them at the door with a low woof, and Hank hung up his coat and threw his things over a hook next to the door. He walked into the kitchen, checking to see that Sumo had food and water, before letting him out into the fenced in backyard.

 

When he turned around, Connor was standing in front of the couch, awkwardly holding his elbow.

 

"So, uh. We should. Talk about the roof. You wanna drink, or something?"

 

Connor shook his head no.

 

Hank cleared his throat. "Okay. Uh. Sit, maybe? We could sit."

 

Connor sat mechanically. Hank took the spot next to him, clearing his throat again.

 

"So uh..."

 

"I'm sorry Hank. I overstepped your personal boundaries."

 

"...Huh?" he said in confusion.

 

"I know that you experience... some base level of attraction to me. But I've obviously. I must have misread. We're in close quarters most of the time, I'm concerned that your feelings for me are... muddled. Perhaps you only feel attracted to me out of a sense of obligation. I'm your subordinate and your partner. You take care of me. You humor me. I understand how that could become... confused."

 

"What."

 

Connor looked up at him. "With regard to my feelings for you... I understand if I should... if you'd like me to find other accommodations."

 

"Okay, hold the fuck up," he said, holding up his hand. "You think  _you're_  taking advantage of  _me."_

Connor gestured to the room. "I've been living here for six months without contributing to rent, Hank."

 

"You've been sleeping on the couch."

"You buy the groceries."

 

"That you cook for me."

 

"We use your car to commute."

 

"Which you hate, because it's not great for the environment. ...What do you mean, your  _feelings for me?"_

 

Connor clenched his fists.  _"Please_  Lieutenant. Your skills of observation are one of the many attributes I find attractive about you. Don't... don't play dumb. It's  _cruel."_  

 

Hank sucked in a breath. "You like me. You _like me?"_

Connor looked at him, face twisted into a frown, under the assumption he was being mocked. The stupefied look on Hank's face made him reconsider. "...You are unaware. After this morning? How can you _not know?"_

 

"Connor, on my best day  _I_  don't like me. The fact that Sumo's stuck around for me is a high point, and he's a dog. I feed him." Hank put his head in his hands, hunching over. "The idea that you,  _you_  could... feel anything for a piece of shit like me-"

 

Connor grabbed him by the wrists, angry.  _"Stop,_  Hank."

 

"Would you  _look at yourself?"_ Hank demanded, wide eyed. "You're fucking. Smart, and talented, and hot, and fucking perfect. I'm twenty years too late to even have a  _shot_  at someone like you. You're a fucking  _miracle._  I'm an  _asshole."_

 

"Lieutenant I am  _in love with you._ You will stop saying these things about yourself."

 

Hank froze.

 

Connor kissed him.

 

It was slightly more polished than their sloppy make out session on the roof, but it was clear that Connor was still upset with him. Hank pushed him away, and Connor  _whined._ Jesus.

 

"We're not done talking."

 

Connor looked at him, gaze flickering toward his mouth. He absently licked his lips. "We could be."

 

Hank swallowed, putting a hand on his chest. "Don't. We have to get through this conversation."

 

Connor twisted his hands in Hank's shirt.

 

"You're not helping," Hank said with a frown. 

 

"Just so we're clear..." he said, looking away. "Just so we're  _clear,_  Connor. I'm.  _Fuck_. I'm so fucking gone on you."

 

"In... in non-millennial terms?" Connor said, as they made eye contact again. The hopeful little look stealing over his face made Hank's heart jump into his throat.

 

"I. Me too. I'm. I love you. Too. Fuck, it sounds so lame when you don't get to say it first."

 

Hank hit his head on the wall behind the couch as Connor climbed into his lap, sealing their mouths together.

 

\---

 

"Connor,  _Con,"_ Hank panted, trying to come up for air.

 

Connor had half unbuttoned Hank's shirt, and was stretching the shit out of the neck of his undershirt, running a hand through his chest hair and thoroughly abusing the nipple he could reach with his thumb.

 

Connor pulled away, eyes half lidded and mouth just  _wet_  with saliva. "Hmm?" he answered.

 

Hank stared at his lips for a second longer. Connor, sensing his weakness, moved back in to kiss him again.

 

"No,  _no,_  Connor. We need to set some ground rules. We need to have an actual, uhh," he paused as Connor had moved to bite at his chin, and Hank tried to move away, straining the muscles in his neck. "We need to talk about how this is going to work."

 

Connor backed off, contemplative. "In thinking about it, I don't think anything particularly significant will change."

 

"Uhh, what?"

 

"Ideally, I'd like to share your bedroom, if you'd be comfortable with the idea of co-sleeping. If not we could finally address the spare bedroom, but I like the idea of renovating it with visits from Cole in mind, rather than for myself."

 

Hank blinked.

 

"It will also be more convenient for physical intimacy, if that's something you're amenable to, and I don't know that I want to engage in coitus on a bed meant for company. That...  _is_  something you're amenable to, isn't it?" Connor looked meaningfully down at Hank's obvious erection. "I... suppose that is a conversation point."

 

"I meant... I meant like, at the precinct," Hank said, weakly.

 

"...Oh."

 

Hank sucked in a breath. "Not that that, uh, it's good that you're uh,  _thinking_  about that other stuff. But. Do we go to HR? We'll be reassigned."

 

Connor looked put out. "I don't want that. We work together seamlessly, a physical and romantic component won't compromise our work ethic, and I have zero desire to adjust to anyone else on the squad as a partner. They're not as good as you are."

 

Hank buried his face in Connor's neck to hide his blush. "So our other option is keeping this a secret," Hank said, muffled, into his shirt.

 

"Is that what you want, Hank?"

 

Hank looked him in the eyes. "Connor, if it were up to me I'd take out every billboard downtown to let the world know that  _somehow,_  for some reason _,_ you're  _entertaining_  the idea of being with me. I'm 54 fucking years old, I have no interest in hiding this from anyone if we don't have to. There's just... there's consequences."

 

Connor seemed satisfied with his answer. "I don't think the squad has to know at this juncture. We're professionals."

 

Hank snorted. "This is so fucking against the rules."

 

Connor smiled, leaning forward to murmur into his mouth. "Is it? I've never broken the rules before."

 

Hank pulled him back into a kiss with a low growl.

 

***

 

An interruption from Sumo scratching at the door had finally gotten them off the couch, but Hank was  _hobbling._  He squeezed himself through his pants to take the edge off, but he'd been at half mast for half the day and Connor certainly hadn't been making that situation any better. He'd disappeared into the bathroom and left Hank to lock things up. Hank gave Sumo a rawhide bone in apology for leaving him outside for longer than usual, before heading into his bedroom to change.

 

He looked in his pajama drawer for something... anything more appealing than his usual choice in pajamas, but the only things he had that were clean and put away at the moment were boxers and an incredibly worn, very soft old t-shirt that said "When You Nut in Space, it Push You Backwards?" in a beautiful script. 

 

Hank sighed inwardly, pulling them on. It had been a long day. Nothing else needed to happen tonight, and he could always take care of himself in the bathroom before they went to sleep. They.  _Huh._ That felt good.

 

He walked back out into the hallway as Connor opened the bathroom door. He had a light flush on his face and was still breathing a little heavy. Hank wasn't used to anyone looking at him the way Connor looked at him now.

 

"Uh..." Hank swallowed. He pointed at his bedroom door. "You still want to sleep in there?"

 

Connor moved into his space, and Hank backed up until he hit the wall, Connor sliding his arms around Hank's shoulders and tangling hands through his hair, kissing him again. If this was what Connor was like after a couple kisses, Hank didn't know if he would  _survive_  the rest of the night, damn.

 

When Connor started skimming his hands along the elastic of his boxers, Hank broke off their kiss. "We should move this, uh, to the bedroom?”

 

Connor stepped away, taking Hank's hand and pulling him down the hallway, kicking the door shut behind them.

 

"So, how do you want to do this, lights on or off?"

 

"On," Connor said without hesitation. "I want to see everything."

 

Hank let out a huff of air.  _"Jesus._  Okay." He sat on the edge of the bed. 

 

Connor unzipped his jeans, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them before folding them over a chair. Connor was wearing sock garters, of course he was. Hank's mouth went dry. 

 

Connor pulled off his tie and draped it over his pants, trying to make short work of his button down.

 

"Wait," Hank said. "Let me."

 

Connor stood in front of him and took Hank's hands, pressing them to the front of his pectoral muscles through the thin shirt. Hank fumbled open his buttons, running his hands over Connor's bare chest, as Connor made a soft sound of want, pushing Hank back on the bed.  _Fuck._

 

"What do you want me to do?" Hank said, panting, in between kisses.

 

Connor looked completely overloaded.

 

"I could suck you off?" he offered.

 

Connor's eyes glazed over, unable to suppress his full body shiver.

 

"I'll take that as a yeah?" he said as Connor nodded his assent, Hank guiding him off of his lap to lay him back onto the pillows. He thumbed at Connor's hip bones, and they stared at each other for a moment. Connor lifted his hand, cupping the side of Hank's face with an affectionate smile and scratching lightly at his beard, running a thumb along Hank's bottom lip. Hank drew it into his mouth, biting softly, before he leaned in to kiss him again, covering Connor's body with his own.

 

He moved over Connor, pausing to focus on his neck and collarbone, with a short detour to bite at his nipples, flicking them to attention. One of the things Hank loved about sex was learning to read someone else's physical cues, and Connor was an open book for him. He licked from Connor's upper abdominals to his navel, enjoying the way his stomach twitched when Hank spent some time tongue fucking his bellybutton. Cute.

 

_"Hank,"_ he gasped, burying a hand in Hank's hair. He hooked his fingers into Connor's boxer briefs and pulled them low, moving to let Connor arch his back enough to get them over the spring of his cock and down his legs. He was still partially dressed, half in half out of his collared shirt with those fucking sock garters, and nothing else. Hank leaned back in, nipping at Connor's happy trail, before he lowered a hand to grip Connor by the base of his dick.

 

It had been more than a while for Hank, but Connor was about average for his size and flushed a purple red, a healthy amount of precome pooling at the head and trickling down the side, likely from their earlier activities. Hank ran his mouth along the side of Connor's cock, nosing at the base and giving him a lazy pump before moving away to bite at his hip bones. Connor gave a soft "Ah," at the loss, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Hank in rapt fascination.

 

Hank moved back in, puffing a breath over the head, and Connor gave an involuntary thrust. "Hank,  _please."_ Hank tongued at his slit and Connor arched, gripping the headboard.

 

Hank moved back, licking at the smear of precome at the corner of his mouth. This was going to get fucking messy. "Connor, if we're gonna do this, I need you to keep your hips still, okay?"

 

Connor nodded dumbly.

 

He moved in again, swirling his tongue around the head before sliding his mouth lower. He held Connor down with thumbs on his hips, and after a few more experimental bobs of his head he set a pace he was comfortable with, concentrating on suction, pumping with his hands what he couldn't quite reach with his mouth.

 

Connor bucked, hitting the back of Hank's throat. Hank pulled off Connor's dick again, coughing a little as his eyes watered, drool dribbling through his beard. 

 

Connor winced. "...Sorry Hank."

 

Hank maintained eye contact as he let out a little huff of breath, before sinking down to take Connor to the base of his dick, his beard touching the light dusting of Connor's pubic hair.

 

Connor made a wounded noise, and Hank started to blow him in earnest. Now that he knew what to expect from his gag reflex, he had less of an issue taking Connor into his throat, loosening the grip on his hips and giving him the leeway to thrust a little, playing with Connor's testicles in his free hand.

 

Hank slid his hands under him to grip at his ass, Connor's legs splaying out on either side of his head. He experimentally thumbed at his perineum, something he always liked during a blowjob, and his thumb came away unexpectedly slippery. Hank pulled off him with a wet pop.

 

"...Connor, did you.  _Fuck._  Did you finger yourself in the bathroom?"

 

"Yes," he said, dazed, moving into more of a sitting position.

 

Hank looked away, biting his lower lip and groaning, clenching his eyes shut. "Fuck.  _Fuck."_ He reached into his boxers to grip himself. Hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen, Christ, unbelievable.

 

"Is everything okay, Hank?" Connor asked, nudging him along the shoulder with the heel of his foot, still in his socks.

 

Hank leveled a look at him. "I'm gonna put your legs over my head and finger you until you come in my mouth. You down with that?"

 

Connor's dick twitched.  _"Please,"_  he replied.

 

Hank leaned back over him and bodily moved him down the bed, hooking Connor's calves over his shoulders. He snapped the elastic of his sock garters, kissing his legs before pressing biting kisses into Connor's thighs. Spreading Connor's ass cheeks, he experimentally rubbed a thumb over his hole, pressing in to see if there was any give. It slid inside with little resistance, and Hank groaned. "Pretty fucking thorough, weren't you Connor?"

 

Connor smiled up at him, curling up to slide a hand between his legs and push a finger in alongside Hank's. "I like to be prepared, Hank."

 

Hank let out a strangled noise, taking in a deep breath. "Yeah, but my fingers are bigger than yours," he said, shoving his middle finger in to the second knuckle.

 

Connor let out a high pitched whine as Hank finger fucked him, scissoring with his index and middle before managing to stretch him to accomodate a third. When Hank found his prostate, nailing it frequently enough to make him see colors, Connor sobbed in a staccato of "Ah, Ah," sounds, dick dribbling down his stomach and dripping onto his chest.

 

"Hank,  _close,"_ he managed, tightening his legs around Hank's shoulders.

 

Hank hunched forward, swallowing Connor's dick with a last few thrusts of his fingers, and Connor spilled into his mouth, muffling a cry into his elbow.

 

***

 

Connor lay back, panting heavily, as he came down from his orgasm. Hank wiped at his mouth, the excess drool and jizz caught in his beard smearing all over his arm hair. Fucking incredible.

 

Connor opened his eyes, trying to get up, before Hank squeezed at his ankle. "Relax Con." He said as he undid the clips on his sock garters, slipping them off and throwing them to the floor. He gently massaged the marks on his legs where the elastic cut in.

 

Connor looked up at him, eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. "You didn't come."

 

Hank shrugged, looking at the tent in his boxers. "Trust me, not gonna take long, I need a shower anyway. I'll get you a cloth from the bathroom when-"

 

Connor leaned up, gently grabbing his wrist. "Unacceptable Hank. Finish on me," he said, letting go and flopping back against the pillows with a lazy grin.

 

Hank sucked in a breath, not needing to be told twice. He shucked off his boxers and gripped his dick.

 

Connor looked at him appreciatively, biting his lower lip. "You're significantly larger than average, Hank."

 

Hank snorted. “You like that, don’t you?” he said, kneeling over him, caging Connor's hips between his knees.

 

"Your shirt."

 

"Huh?"

 

"Take off your shirt."

 

Hank furrowed his brow, hand still on his dick. "Now?"

 

"Now. I told you I wanted to see you."

 

Hank, too fucking hard for too long to let his crippling self doubt ruin what was otherwise a spectacular fuck, lifted the shirt off and threw it across the room.

 

"Mmm," Connor said. "Better."

 

Hank barely needed to touch himself before he spilled over Connor’s chest.

 

***

 

It was a struggle keeping Connor awake in the bathroom, pinning him up against the tiles to give them both a cursory scrub down. Connor had initially tried to get him into bed, but he'd somehow managed to refuse, flashing back to the fucking pigeons that morning, and he'd half carried Connor into the bathroom to hose off. 

 

Trying to shower with a half asleep Connor proved somewhat challenging. Hank hadn't anticipated he'd be so... grabby.

 

Toweling off deteriorated into wet, open mouthed kisses, and by the time they made it back to the bedroom Connor crawled into bed, naked, burrowing under the blankets. Hank picked up his boxers and shirt again, but Connor made a whine of protest.

 

_"Hank,"_  he said, eyes already slipping closed. "I'm cold, please come here."

 

Hank shook his head, dropping his clothes to the floor, helpless to do anything but comply.

 

\---

 

Hank woke up alone.

 

He reached for where Connor had settled up against him the night before, disoriented. If not for the twinge in his lower back, the all over body aches and his nakedness, he might have written it off as a dream, but his dreams weren't usually that creative.

 

He stood up, half asleep, fishing around on the floor for his clothes, stepping into his boxers before making his way into the bathroom.

 

He was halfway through washing his face before he registered the nice smells coming from the kitchen.

 

Connor was standing in front of the stove, making pancakes and one of his tofu omelet thingies, wearing his "If You Nut in Space, it Push You Backwards?" shirt.

 

Hank couldn't help it, he laughed.

 

Connor turned, startled. "I was going to let you sleep until breakfast was ready," he said. Hank scratched at his chest hair, and he noticed the little hitch in Connor’s breath.

 

"You're up pretty early," Hank said with a slow smile.

 

Connor started turning pink. "I thought perhaps if we had some extra time before we have to be at the precinct..."

 

Hank raised his eyebrows. Connor turned off all the burners on the stove. "Breakfast will keep," he said, pulling Hank into a kiss, stumbling with him toward the bedroom.

 

\---

 

 

 

 

It was a Tuesday.

 

 

 

 

Reed walked by Connor's desk, hip checking the papers hanging off the corner to knock them to the ground, to see Connor drinking his bottle of Gatorade Frost and eating a wrap with avocado, raw red onion, strawberries and peanut sauce. "What fucking planet are you from, Detective Dipshit?" he said, gagging as he walked away.

 

Hank looked up from his work in slowly dawning realization, abruptly put his hands on his desk, stood up, and made a beeline toward the restroom.

 

Tina raised her eyebrows at Chris. "...What was that about?" Chris shrugged, going back to his notes. 

 

"Geriatric old bastard spent the last decade marinating his liver in scotch, what do you think that was about?" Reed grunted.

 

Connor, concerned, discretely followed Hank to the bathroom.

 

Hank was furiously washing his face in the single stall all access bathroom farthest away from the bullpen. "Okay," he breathed. "You're okay. It's fine. It's alllll fine. You're probably losing your damn mind but that's nothing new, that was bound to happen sooner or later." He looked at himself in the mirror blearily, the droplets of water making little rivulets down his face, before he slapped at his cheeks, sighed deeply and toweled himself off. 

 

He opened the door to find Connor standing outside, arm raised to knock. 

 

"Jesus Connor! Give me a fucking heart attack!"

 

"I only wanted to make sure you were alright."

 

Looking at him then was like seeing Connor for the first time all over again, only this time everything had clicked into place. He'd had a moment of panic, but what did knowing change? Who was he gonna tell, anyway? The Feds? The CIA? After the weirdness of Connor's first day at the DPD and all the digging he'd done into Connor's past, since they'd started... since they were  _together_  now, he'd been worried about how he'd feel if he ever found out Connor's big secret, he was worried it would change how he felt.

 

"Hank...?" Connor said, touching his arm in concern.

 

He hauled Connor into the bathroom by the front of his stupid button down and locked the door behind them, shoving him up against it in his eagerness to get his mouth on Connor's.

 

"Mmfiueutenant," Connor said against his mouth, surprised, as Hank moved to suck at his neck, "Hank, this is the kind of behavior we should ah- avoid, if we're to keep our private lives and professional lives sep- separate."

 

 

 

 

 

Hank kissed him again, gripping his ass with both hands and grinding into him. Hank shoved a knee between his thighs, licking the seam of his mouth before biting Connor's lower lip, to get his mouth open, to get closer, before he pulled back. 

 

"The fuck you been eating, Connor?" he squinted at him, and then laughed. "You know what? I don't even fucking care."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops it became very spicy, blame twitter jericho
> 
> i started this DBH Aliens!AU before venom was even a thing and now everyone is smooching aliens, nice
> 
> Connor, please, change your password you are embarrassing everyone


End file.
